These little moments are crossed by symbols and threads which lead into lifetimes swollen with regret, Judy Garland brings roses which she lays upon my knees, and I think about how strange this is and how worried I should be, but these thoughts rise into clouds which drift eastwards into days I shall never see. I am not the man I thought and neither that which I need to be, but brave seas keep rolling and empires rise and fall.
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