Moving on and up and out
There is no time for rhyme or reason or doubt
Because moments are meant to be trapped in the mind
And time is meant to be fast and fleeting unkind.
You and I we exist in a memory
Evanescent, transitory
Now that the years have run
Leaving us in the webs we've spun.
We are like those tears in the rain
Existing invisibly, then never again.
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