The past is no mere story I've told,
Like clay, my life, from it I mold.
The power it wields, no trifling thing,
The power it wields, a potent sting.
Of choices cast, some brought no good,
Of choices cast, some I've withstood.
The past has power to heal my present,
The past has power to shape my future.
If you defy its call, my friend,
You choose to fall toward dire ends.
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