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What of the Sun - can I predict its fate?
And if I can, do I know the date...?
All may want, but none control the tides,
And many truths in our History hides.
So speculate; oh, brothers share this act,
For there is no value in the stated fact,
For lies do better deal with our desires,
And frame the images that the world admires,
For all is self and self must not be scarred,
Lest it the culture of the lie retard.
That we all confess our sins to one another,
That all our little secrets we uncover,
And the Sun sinks slowly embarrassingly red,
For all our righteous thinking it is dead.
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