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A self-respecting and honourable Man does his best every day.

15 May 1977
Ghost's Lament by Lilana Chiong

The days bleed. Week, after week.
I don't care anymore.
No one feels me when I speak.

It's quiet where I am now, as they scream into my face.
Void of any hope,
lost with Love's fair-weather embrace.

I used to believe it could be better,
things would start to make sense.
Truth is, all was drowned in the absence,

of love. Of lust, of hope, of pain...
No, only pain managed to stay in the refrain.

Sing it once again, hold hard to the ghosts.
It's amazing how good it feels,
not to feel when you've lost what you loved most.

The urgency we feel to recreate what is no longer real,
has a crippling effect on the memory of those days no longer left to steal.

Gone are the days where carelessness is unaccompanied by shame.
There's no more meaning in the words that fall from lips,
than there is in a name.

Conclusion turns to sand,
slips away, with little left to stay.
Leaves behind tiny glass in the palm of your hand.

Suddenly everything is so clear,
the moment before you realize...
Some of us were meant to disappear.