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Signs of stagnation, in immoveable objects,
yet they got there, but that's another story.
Comfort breeds fear, kills creativity too,
and always has been known, so then futile to hide.
Bars on windows, reverse prisons of Mayfair,
while ours are used to stop us getting out,
yours are used to stop us getting in,
and once safely locked, house fire your only real concern.
Together alone, alone together,
surely the greatest sadness of all,
feelings numb, disconnected, diminished,
with only comforts mime of love to suffice.
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