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For days the fireflies have been eating my darkness
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Say goodnight to every part
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and the closed bud shrugs off
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I come before the rumor of fountains, to the
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tell the clowned-out clouds and the rain,
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What if the land had its own language?
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The news would pour out of various devices
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People don’t like to leave a party
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I’ll be Easter bunnies
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But other things change my mind:
