Those who stagnate are foolish.
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A black feather has fallen,
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gently and lightly, onto my fingertips.
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you can still be rewritten many times,
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for the blood ink will never parch up.
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Our true selves, unknown to anyone,
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are the ones capable of changing this dwindled world.
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What we have been seeking
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is not something as petty as happiness.
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Fight! With your pounding heartbeats being your signal,
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if you advance as you please,
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there will be no limit to how far you can go.
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Resist! Even if we writhe in pain from repeated defeats,
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onto the scars covering our bodies, let's engrave our dreams.
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In order prevent our present memories from being buried,
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we must head towards tomorrow.
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Holding on to our elegant frailty,
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can it be that we're merely botched dolls
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from God's work of artistic creation?
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Nevertheless, having transcended both heaven and hell,
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our hearts will reach our bosoms.
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when I get to close my eyes for good.
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Fight! Our confluent cries will be our oath.
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The strength we have brought together
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is even more sacred than love.
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I wish to seize the sword that will deliver the final blow.
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Let me brandish the point of my sword that penetrates all.
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There, light will gather and saturate,
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and hope will be nurtured.
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I wish to perceive the meaning
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as taught by my pounding heartbeats.
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Resist! Even if we writhe in pain from repeated defeats,
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(Have faith in the strength of our unfathomed selves,)
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onto the scars covering our bodies, let's engrave our dreams!
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I wish to guard the sword that will deliver the final blow.
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(I wish to seize what I will have in my hand in the very end.)
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Let me brandish the point of my sword that penetrates all.
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Then, my body will be showered
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with the gathering and saturating light,
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and a white feather will finally have fallen,
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gently and lightly, onto my fingertips.
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The visitors have fallen silent.
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