A sound softly so woven within the fabric of the house
Whispering a shout and covering any hopes of silence
Craving its signature on furniture of old
Stepping into histories untold
Listening out an audience to perform its show
Dreaming the clapping replies and bodies stood high
Smiling internally towards a false acceptance
Recalling in ones self its existence
So insignificant and neglected
Uncoordinated its not
Forever it shall remain just a distany cry
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