| We have revived the water… or perhaps it simply woke up on its own.
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| Anticipating… it is murmuring now along its acient bed.
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| Where is the stone… the tower… that worships… and reveres us?
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| No such a stone is here, I swear… well feeling that there should be On hottest rods we’re shooting through the night along a private garden-way…
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| though we no longer have any business being here
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| On the left-hand side the greenhouse of a market garden…
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| what fragile shoots are being sheltered there?!
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| Merry Rock, dressed in the midnight gown of tears,
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| he is sitting on the floor and cries
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| his eyes are gazing at the western sky…
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| Oh everything seems lost to him
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| Tapping his shoulder gently,
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| my desire hardly concealed:
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| You’ve done alot already, and much more you will achieve!
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| Sweet syrup consolation is dripping from my mouth…
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| Can I, myself, believe this soldemn vow?
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| I shattered all the mirrors fearfully hoping
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| that they won’t be able to remember my face.
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| Darkest of all lights
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| most greedy to embrace
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| surrounded by demons
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| or breathing in life…
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| Between the tides the time seems endlessly
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| the force of habit or whatever
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| pulled me back into a well-known pain.
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| What uses the knowledge of my progression
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| when the old world is gone
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| without a new in sight, with my new found life
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| I am homeless again… |