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Veda Hille
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How is it: growth becomes betrayal? Every step a nail in some forsaken attic box Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep walking Can’t you see the grieving? On small feet, I am leaving Choose joy, choose sleep, choose solitude Death is distant buzzing Insects rise to your passing As you walk the narrow green To get your clothes clean Again, again, take refuge in the written Flatten the swelling of your empty church heart Don’t stop, don’t stop The cost of giving is receiving On slow feet, I am leaving, I am leaving Some do Come through The window Some do Come through The window Some do Come through The window
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