*
We are all ghosts. 
We have yet to figure it out.
*
Walking around, we think we’re never going to leave this place. 
*
It’s always been ours to do with.
*
Where are they all, those who have gone before us?
*
They are in the restless murmuring of the grasses and the hiss and wash of the sea.
*
We are like unto the dead ourselves. 
*
Busy at who knows what.
*
There’s nothing for it:
we’re all for the boneyard.
*
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