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I am always the outcast
looking out from behind my gilded bars
I watch them pass
blurred faces, meere smudges
and I sit and wonder
I walk a shadow among
and do not manifest myself
I slide through cracks
and dance only with the sadows
my wings have grown to rust
but what good where they ever?
I do not recall flying upon a cloudless day
in the blue skies
but then I have always prefered the gray.
7:30 PM - 10/28/2007 -
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