I have a few small things that reside in the box of my dream. A bird of my own desire, a paradise of wings, nestled in the heart of a collapsing theme.
I have a few ordinary things that live in the temple of my dream. A heart in exile, a whispering of kings, cherished in the crux of a distorted stream.
I have a few worn-out things that are held in the hands of my dream. A crowning moment, a flickering of rings, hidden in the midst of a mischievous beam.
Nestled in the heart of a collapsing theme; cherished in the crux of a distorted stream; hidden in the midst of a mischievous beam;
I live out my dream.
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