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Difficulty exists as a companion to fear,                                                                                      Without which life would be much more dear.                                                                                        I say ‘life’, but really what do we know?                                                                                          Existing, existing, yet full of sorrow.                                                                                              Existence after all, who are we to judge,                                                                                            Born naked, humanity, progressing as sludge.                                                                                  We progress and progress, concerned not of our past.                                                                          Not learning, nor caring, proceeding too fast.                                                                                        I ask myself why, why no-one can see.                                                                                              What we have become, and what we shall be.

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