It seems to me that we don't go far, as if we're locked up. Everyone has a city and a house, and we are caught in this network; and there, where I sang, you're no more than a guest, though I sang not for them. But we become such as how they see us - you will return home, and me - home, and that's it. But, really - why should we become us? become us when there is no day, to have time for all the hands, that reach for you and me. And only when I shall sing, where there are strangers' looks and smoke, I know who will rise before me, and will force me, and will order me once again to stay alive.
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