The Game

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Funny, they say, that youth can be danger

But what they don’t think about is more so;

Life’s a game and you, a meager player

Like the puppet, you’ve no time for leisure

Except when it’s granted to suit you forth;

Neither alive nor dead, He is the Sayer.

The chilled darkness of night bites at your skin

While above He watches over unhinged;

And you cry tears of great longing, unheard,

Because refuge in repulse is absurd.

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