Lyrics of 'Microcosmic Design' by Astrakhan
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Wearing at his palm
Molted skin stone
Attrition
Rough hands erode
We can
Regeneration
It's Sisyphusian in some form
Wearing your feeling fingers down
Legacy his only contribution
To a world that's gone
Fixed in his task
Decades pass
Stone pushes stone, relinquish control
Life he lived means nothing if no one remains
Guess his reward is purpose hands on the stone
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