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One rhythm beats true On this beautiful night,
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Kissed by the sun and blessed by the gods
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My love grew for you, more than I thought it ever could
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are you thinking of ways to make me crazy, or thoughts of staying out late
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Her hair were strands of liquid silver,
dressed in the the whitest lace
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He knew the Jinn were cunning creatures, that nothing
was as it seemed, capricious as the wind they controlled, as mercurial as the shifti
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The sun a distant glow on the clouds of a nuclear
winter, he wonders who will heal the land?
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the loneliest corner of the earth mildly stetched and pondered perhaps
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In gorgeous tones, these ancient stones Are wreathed in radiant moss,
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Fingers toughened by years of twisiting rushes, those fiberous grasses taking on shapes and patterns to tell the stories of the tribe
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I still feel them close by,
For each time my heart beats,
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Black is his heart, with blood in his eyes, he drips bile venom as his words crush all hope.
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You wouldn't be here, if you didn't get it. So allow me to guide you, to help you get with it.
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A landscape like no other Endless, strange, shifting;
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I thought we would have more time, I would have more time, but your time ran out.
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These are not the unicorns spoken of in legend and
lore. These are spoken of in the hushed whispers of the back rooms of taverns.
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"The Supreme Irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive."
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He never said, "good bye" or "I'm sorry" as his realtionships imploded under his attacks of violence, alcohol and drugs,
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When heaven cries... Let's hope for a brighter day.
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Remember I told you about the Rogal tree
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Witherforthou this poetic horoscope thrust upon my conscious like an irregular prominence
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Faster and faster they fall, the wind streaming,
threatening to tear them apart.
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She wept for joy and created the waters that flowed on the Earth.
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I found a brick It was just lying there
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It smells like glue here. To bad
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She rests, as do we under our quilt of white, waiting patiently for the Sun King and Spring
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vibrating at your edge in oriental whispers
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I wonder if I would disappear br
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No- you don't understand br
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He whispered words of sweet seduction, filled with more words of beautiful regret that snowballed hatred
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Each drop no longer water, a pearl of crimson staining the floor
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At reason's razor-edge: Sharply out of tune.
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My deeper face, fell from the wound so torn (there weeping forth my salt)
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Each one illuminated a path, flaring briefly, then extinguishing in the blackness where creativity does not exist
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The Summer King may rest to be reborn in the Spring
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