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Quicksilver skies, these birds
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In the end
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Some place on the earth it may happen, may catch the light,
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Already one day has detached itself from all the rest up ahead.
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We don’t remember the dream,
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This is the chief integrating thing about it:
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We fall past,
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What we call love is a safe place before
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From the point of view of four-dimensional space-time
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We must admit there will be music despite everything.
