Away from this life back to the swamp trampling the burning ashes of my shattered dreams underfoot may be facing at last with all my certainties which have been burnt on the altar of self confidence there's no pupil in the eye of the stillborn prophet back to the swamp falling back to the swamp since now certainties have to belong to my fears nothing is safe definition's dead as stillborn prophet I could hope but hope doesn't fit the facts.
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