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Beauty walks this world. It ages everything.
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Remember you are this universe and this
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I don’t want nothin’ if I have to fake it
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Do you know young René Rilke?
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Milk blue from its moon, the sky
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just as the greatest turmoil has precision.
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Even our fear is in vain, and our doubt
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soon, the night buds will unfold.
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I am on a float trip in the Buddha’s mind.
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no more of your springtimes are needed
