Being born,
We die from the life before we lived,
That existence within our maker,
But time transcends
And towards the light we fall,
Swept along with an ignorance of the future
And a tire of the past,
The Exodus arrives
And the tunnel ends

Hands engulf,
Drawing us into a plebeian existence
Where breeds an ignorance of the past,
A fancy for the future
And an enduring of the present,
But crawling
Our only path is towards another death,
Another existence,
Another light in a radiant tunnel;
Another Exodus

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