I may have died a little today
But it’s okay, I’ll get it back
Back on track, with all the pieces
As each one ceases, another starts
The way time passes is a state of decay
It works out that way, because growth
takes space
New things replace, they renew the old
As they grow cold, it all restarts
These words connect in different ways
As my hand plays, it works as well
And who can tell, certainly not me
At what this’ll be, with all its parts
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