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Things look mighty different

When you’re high

In a sky 

Scraping the upper limits of how high you’ve ever been

without someone scraping your knees in the aisle on the way to the toilet.

You look out from your lookout

Touch the glass and trust, you’ve got to, that the glass is sufficiently strong

And you’re safe but still a little queasy

As you look at the world below

As it passes and moves with absolutely positively zero regard for your observing it

And your gaze creeps to somehow within

As you gaze out as far as you’ve ever seen

To the places you were

To the places you’ve been

And you shake your head slowly



That you still aren’t clear

Will it ever be clear

As to what it all


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