And to the rocks that drift across the empyrean,
And to the mud beneath our feet,
And that body of hot springs,
A feather between the misfits,
Our hearts is the wind and our heads gravity,
We labor to be different,
Yet yearn to fit in,
Breaking away from our genes,
With the strings still pulling on our skin,
Call us cycle breakers or uncaring,
We belong to everything and nothing.
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