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We are snow, rain, cold, darkness, we are each product and influence of the globe,
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I do trust the strict part of memory, the only archivist
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Sometimes I’m in the mood, I wanna live in my pony stall
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since between then and now no new coincidences have been noted
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I know what life is
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Of the seas in the corner
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you make poetry out of it
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and somehow honey dripping down
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The sky is listening; the sky is as hopeful
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It has no knowledge except of nothingness