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and here I am, just trying
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Each moment of time is a mountain.
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let it show you how
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Unless to you, to whom should I praise love?
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Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
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I hear something coming,
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Let the heart’s pain slack off
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The arctic blasts say fight.
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Sun makes the day new.
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Rilke wrote, “That I gently wipe away the look of suffered injustice sometimes hinders the pure motion of spirits a little.”
