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We tap-dance on the knife-edge,

happiness is a golden fly

Insects with strange manners,

that flighty beast

Agreed to the farce of our fates crushed

by the weight of lifes burden

Heroes of remarkable stories,

threw their coats of rezignation away

Uncertain touches in the unknown,

pitch-black darkness hurts

But pity is degrading and

doesn''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''t heal anything

To the top of euphoria they climb at some other

time than we bits of beauty have other shapes