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The funneling eye skews each changing sight;
All the horizons melted into one.
Shuffling through the city, lost in it's light,
surrounded by silhoettes' foreign tongue:
This city reminded me, though far-off,
of a memory -- or dream -- that fell out
into unknown; Something that was forgot
and buried from itself, below such long
tales which grew the confusing and the new.
If life was a dream, some city-goer
would at least speak to me, instead of view
me with distrust. Times have changed, turned over.
Cold may it be in the busiest place,
as people search for missing links of grace.
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