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There's a footprint in the snow outside my bedroom window. It is simply one footprint, there is no pair, there is no pathway. It is in the center of a field of white. I don’t know whose it is, and I don’t know how it got there.
I'm just a footprint on the sandAnd the tide is growing nearDuring this time I cannont hearMy cries echoBut linger in the airSuch a fragile commodityI need careBefore I can no longer speak audibly
The pitfalls of man, though shallow, stay d
We've run our lives,
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