We just bumped into eachother

The time is flowing by

So many millions of

Chance encounters lost

Who will mourn for them?

Who will attend their

Wake? Wash them lying

Embalmed, trapped in a

Cold room with a low hanging

Ceiling. Where will they go now?

Will they haunt us like feeble

Weeds, growing, clutching at the

Gritty footholds of our Fate?

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