A torrid thought crept slowly,
It hung on for dear life,
It cut through my dreams,
Slowly slicing with it's butter knife,
The bitter end came near,
Yet our minds flowed like one,
We dared not for the end,
But awaited the day when we had won,
The cold chill froze our minds,
Beating our once brought thoughts,
Running our lives like a wooden tool,
Moving us like machine bots,
Our lives short,
Our minds long,
We never once heard their cries,
Yet we heard their glorious battle song.
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