- I wonder at times . . .
Where does it all begin.
I'm looking at You, but trying to see me.
The sound of my voice as it reverberates and echoes in the empty chasms of within.
Growing stronger, gathering speed . . .
An army of a thousand songs, burning and blazing like a savage fire in my breast . . . coming out at last past the jagged guardians of
speech as a desperate gasp.
- Where did I loose you? Was it somewhere in me? Do you tune out, when I'm tuned in?
- As to this one . . . is it? It is? Tis all, but perhaps tis not.
Don't be a fool, Mottel, do what's right and ignore what's wrong. Don't answer the dolt, lest you be tangled in his foolishness.
March on. Break through. Let it be.
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