| If the earth was a willow
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| And you were one too
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| -Would earth be weeping
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| So gentle and so true?
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| If I was the garden
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| Whereas you could grow
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| -Would you hand me your branches
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| And grant me your love?
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| In between the lines of your story-flowing through
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| The pages of a book so well prepared
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| The words leave more than ashes from your pencil
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| When it speaks of tiny stories
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| That happened through these years
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| I swear that your present reality
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| -Disillusioned obscurity?
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| -Will gently wipe away the tears
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| Of wasted seeds
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| How can we go through this
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| -With wounded wings before we learned how to fly
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| How can i control desires
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| -When desire burns on a chilly autumn Night?
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| I will try and make you imagine;
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| The aura where they stand
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| Is filled with little secrets
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| -As written in the sand
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| Naked as a child at birth
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| A question in disguise
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| An oasis in a lonely desert
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| Where lonely unknown lands lie
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| From here and into (infinity)
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| -Humble and timeless philosophy
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| -You gently wept away the tears
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| Of wasted seeds
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| All the days that have left me
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| And the species I have seen
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| Ahead days will follow
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| -It was only a dream
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| Though my garden is growing
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| Under skies out of blue
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| And it changes each season
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| Both in colours and in truth
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| You should know that a willow
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| -A weeping bed’s pillow-
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| Until all days are through
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| Rain that fall on your branches
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| Yearning for a source to feed it’s primal need
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| Can make your beauty blossom from within
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| With flowers blowing in the wind
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| -And in seasons to follow… |