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by Unsilent

What is left to do when two thirds of our lives are nothing
One third is to accept that you’ll get old and die
On the ruins of what you have been building

Among millions of blank eyes
Sinking in the swamp
Of strange destinies
All we can make out is only emptiness

When the ruins cover us
We’ll draw our dreams on the fallen dust

We’ll go on ‘cause it's all
That has left for us

Contributed by Natalie A. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
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