Rhythms

I hear the beating of the drum
but it always sounds so hollow;
it’s not the sort of rhythm
this old heart can follow.
so I always make by own song
and follow it most blindly
hoping that it’ll guide me
to an end that treats me kindly.

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About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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