There rolls the ball,
a little ball,
insignificant,
stained with mud and dust,
unable to stop till it is blocked,
somewhere,
the lowest of seas,
the highest of crude,
down beneath, It'll lie...
til the day where there is not a minute,
nor a second,
when red dwarfs turn white...
Feeling the glum of silvery night...
Where nightingales swim in the currents of tide...
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