The ancient one who wrote our fate,
lost his script when he held your palm
He gave you his hand to hold
And write in your own script
But wisdom and passion, both his wives, old hags, they fought and he let you go
He let you go with empty lines,
to tweak and write a story he can't
The lines he drew, remained untouched
Fate took his wives'side and you flirted
With blue butterflies, Nectar names
Lustrous longings and abstemious arms
Yesterday's memories, you offer to wisdom
And carry tomorrow's dreams into passion's temple
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