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Mother Nature, Womanhood, In the cycle of three;
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A tent in the mountains, and below the woods. Pine trees and oak, and beyond, the lake.
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Roll a mountain towards you,
precipitate from the vain clouds,
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mother help me
for i don't understand
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Oh is it but a shame? A beauty from a glance,
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Silvered-leaves fall with gentle grace Harsh sunlight breaking through outer space
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If there's no heaven and all we are are cells and space, in random spots
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These bright yellow lights I Iook up to see
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Can't you see the place that we have Is full of hatred and is cursed with plagues
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When you turn off the lights Everything grows softer
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The scent of salt-sea winds The melodic shrieks of circling fowl
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