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He watched himself as a living dead Trapped inside a prison of dread Nothing arrives, nothing disappears Drowned in lunacy, misery and fear In a vacuum of wasted time Chained to his fate life, is his crime Nobody would care if he died He's a ghost desolated from pride Run by a culture of anxiety A person of senseless misery His life will slowly cease Disappearing with a breeze The shadow has control A tiny thread him holds