The standard set is no longer standard,
The puzzle’s getting more complex by day.
Is there one and only brutal tyrant,
Then it’s your memory, with all its brutal sway.

Reopening the scars of times forgotten,
Replacing brief excitement with despair,
Was there ever quality or quota
Of what was damaged then beyond repair?

It’s ripping conscience to shreds, to pieces
And leaving you with emptiness inside.
Once path is burnt, there will be no easy
Way. Get hurt and learn, repeat, and fight.

Fight for yourself, the real you.
When world is filled with copies of templates,
It will be left with tiniest of crews:
The ones who stayed away from duplicates.


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