They will cloth themselves in like apparel. Disguising their voices with similar tone, they will fool the unknowing. Their banners will rise higher than your own and you will stare above in despair. Upon your back they will step and into the sky will raise their glory, while your own banner will tumble down unnoticed. And sitting in the corner a tired writer desperately searches for just one more thought. His eyes are missing, clawed out by his own hand in anguish over a forgotten phrase. As he slumps over in the corner, a stranger will walk by aimlessly humming the stolen tune. A heart will break at that moment, it always does.


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