I Believe in the dead poets society
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yet their mortal lifes be so long gone.
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I Believe in a dead man's reality
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as their thoughts have in my pages come.
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Constrained to speak out loud
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but forced to let my thoughts out
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I write, and the society listen.
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They hear my words, not spoken.
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Poets look beyond the plain,
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they hear every word as if it were
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requiered so to live.
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Yet dead they are,
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and so attentive to me,
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a dead man's dream, hopeful of return to earth.
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living life without much matter anyway the winds blow.
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passion fills when we find lifes worth.
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unfortunately found it at his last lights glow.
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I write for the great and the greatest
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for the weak and the weakest.
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They will not be forgotten by me,
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as I write these thoughts to be,
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like a scar upon our minds, oh friend.
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So we will always remember.
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I believe in the society of dead poets
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yet in mortal life we are so long here.
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I believe that if we listen hard to nothings
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whispers,
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we will always the poets hear.
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