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There is freedom In never needing to hurry As time swiftly drains Through clamoring hands - There’s a clear window pane Within that slothful dream, A view of snow-capped hills Above fire swept plains Ruled by thirst - There is beauty Sold only On our side of the rock To the few fine royals Who have looted its soul - There are only wasted days Beyond the walls of their city And the swathe of revolt Softly seething in the dark