To the Track

不小心把时空写成云烟。
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For all its worth
you are bent or straighten to be run over
by thousands and thousands of tons of goodies or souls
that you could care no difference
You are always the still carrier
born to be overloaded
swelling under the heat
shivering in the cold
You could not see the destiny from your stretch
but you know there is boundary somewhere far
and your prayers are always running with the moving carts

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