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Quiet 
It's 4AM
I was
Sound asleep
Trying
To hunt the sheep 
There is a choice 
Within a voice 
Lurking somewhere between 
Hidden part
And facial scars 
And remnants of the deepest needs
I am convinced
In sleeplessness
That we need some source of rest 
Following
With frequency
Won't become a place to lay our heads 
I've searched
And tried
And tumbled in the midst
I've swallowed pride 
And nullified 
What's left of innocence
 Reperations
Won't be made
We'll set a precedent 
Never too late
To recreate
So here's your evidence 
Am I getting through?
Is this loud enough?
Any means
By all extremes 
This feeling follows action
You can take
My worst mistakes
And use them for excuses
Or you can try
To realize
This vessel's by itself is worthless
The hand, the furnace, the straight face 
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