Sometimes I would only be a small
a child who is a plastic shovel
beating the big world
by repeating not a good cake, do not
not a bad cake. Somewhere
World mine.
a bonanza hits the man's pickaxe.
I would like to feel inside of me
how does it feel to be blessed with luck.
The words in front of me disappear off
emotions in front of the heart pain
as beavers trees will be restrained.
Inside it's dark and I do not
any beacon light to see anymore.
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