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| If you don't know the kind of person I am |
| and I don't know the kind of person you are |
| a pattern that others made may prevail in the world |
| and following the wrong god home we may miss our star. |
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| For there is many a small betrayal in the mind, |
| a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break |
| sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood |
| storming out to play through the broken dyke. |
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| And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail, |
| but if one wanders the circus won't find the park, |
| I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty |
| to know what occurs but not recognize the fact. |
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| And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy, |
| a remote important region in all who talk: |
| though we could fool each other, we should consider |
| lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark. |
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| For it is important that awake people be awake, |
| or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep; |
| the signals we give, yes or no, or maybe? |
| should be clear: the darkness around us is deep. |
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