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There were no sacred years

On which our future dreams were built,

With clear blue skies unstained by tears

And beauty’s blooms that did not wilt.


The halcyon days in which we dance

A frosted memory so clear,

In fields of joy and true romance

Where boundless hope lived free of fear.


Down gilded corridors we roam

And dress ourselves in falsehoods true,

A spider’s web we call our home

And hide our eyes from all we knew.