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No other shore, only this bank
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I / will craft my own drum. Gather my beloved
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Before the rebels took Ch’ang-an,
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It seems / our own impermanence is concealed from us.
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Evening is the stalk
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Write with your fingernails, scratch
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let me grow wings of light,
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as if a bouquet of wildflowers
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Purple is the color of talking about the past
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I am running into a new year
