Can't we return to splendor?
The truth we oft deny
Love turns to hate in cloudy weather.
Sunk and swollen whence we die.
Along the parched red avenue.
Beneath the waning sky.
Along the shores of solitude,
Does all ambition die.
Return again to splendor.
Return again to hope.
Below the monoliths of beauty;
Lay the means with which we cope
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