This place is not here

If I was tainted, would you tell me?
If the picture we painted
Of sainted bliss
Turned out to be anything less
Than what we had imagined,
Would you tell me?

And what if I told you that I still have those dreams?
Of answering the call unseen
And escaping this life unclean
And sleeping rough between
Sand and sky
With hands held high,
And I, and I and I

However faint.

Cutting loose my restraints
And confirming the taint.
So I ask again:
Would you tell me?


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