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The world bends us to its will:
The mountains defy trespass,
Except by man made road.
The rivers deny crossing,
Except by man made bridge.
As we're ever searching for the real,
We're stymied by the trail gone cold;
Worn down by the four winds tossing;
Halted by the impossible ridge.
Even when the world grows still,
It never will release its fearsome hold.
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