We collected everything we had, stuffing knapsacks with keepsakes and heading off
Pockets full of day old bread
We made it as far as the river that day, sometimes dropping crumbs
We we’re running from something, or other more persuasive adventures called
Luckily friction still operates normally, heating tin cans on coals and conjuring a meal is still simple
Above the gods aligned, and brightly sent us to sleep
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