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Perhaps we are as indistinct to God, as God is to us.
High up in heaven, alone among his streets of gold,
Sits God, deep in depression, head in his hands.
He sighs and says, if only I could see them,
If only they weren't so tiny; maybe then I could believe-
Believe that they really exist,
Instead of seeing them mostly as some dream,
Or some story made up a long time ago,
To keep me from feeling so alone up here...
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