The instruments play music
But not all instruments have melody.
Some are silent.
When the wind blows,
Along many stories flows.
The stories not known.
〔A collection *of poems by my embarrassing past self's*.〕
A criminal handing himself to the laws, For justice but who could bring the loss? Will his life fix it all? Dead is dead, a sinner is a sinner; What's lost can't be found If he could go back in time, But that's a dream never coming true.
These thoughts echoed in his head.
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