Feels like ages
We progress through stages like grief
We process through ages like streets
We profess adoration
We profane adulation
Sheer elation once
Now look the state of us
Kicking lumps over what another wouldn’t fuss
Brush over it bald patch
Rush into it rough patch
On my back more than a back patch
Away from here in highest gear
Anywhere my sat nav can grab fast.
Alchemisland 
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