Not God knows, how the hell
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A fool lived in the world
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Without a king in my head
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Himself at a glance
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In those parts where the waste,
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Hunger, pestilence and fire,
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Where is the smoke of a flock of clouds
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Drives on the ground.
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So he lived in soot, did not wind, did not circle,
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Faithfully served the wind, wide open the soul.
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How he found the sun and walked through the stars,
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I'll tell you, listen
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For distant lands,
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Heaven on the edge
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Dancing ashes
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On rotten, warped stumps, let it bring to light
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Gray ash of corruption.
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And over the whole earth
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There is no sun for a hundred years -
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Only night and shredded stars!
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And the people in those parts
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In the haze.
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And not immediately, not suddenly, but forgot
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What lived differently.
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In the round dance of nights
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The flame of the eyes froze
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And over time in those parts
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There are no sighted people left.
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Ice empty eye sockets
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Shut up hearts
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Krivotolkov Chad
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They drive the fool across the sleepy land, where the sunset does not freeze,
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Where dawns do not splash.
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How many years on the road
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How much ahead?
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How to find and help a fool overcome grief?
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Woe.
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Woe.
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Woe.
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Woe.
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On the edge of heaven, the demon pulls out of the hair burr-gloom
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Let it vomit into the light with the stars of victories - the demon cannot be appeased in a fight.
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Scattering burdocks along the edges of the earth is now a fool's strength.
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Yes, to pluck a mad thief from heaven.
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Help the sun, dear!
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Who saw fire floating across the sky,
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What is the joy of gold in blue,
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As a white horse descends to a watering place,
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As the sun reflects the footprint of his horseshoe,
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As the eyelashes of dawn sparkle in the clouds,
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As overflows glide over the grasses from dew,
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Who saw how the pain leaves the heart,
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How good then, easy and how beautiful.
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Not in hell, not in heaven, but on the very edge,
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Where a pale handwriting ruled the earth,
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To scatter light over the earth again,
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The fool fought with dregs for three days and three nights.
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I wove the light of autumn stars into a lock of my hair,
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The sunbeam was in his hand the radiance of a blade.
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Where the grass is tall and golden rings -
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I was there too, this tale was folded,
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And above us to this day it burns
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The sun! |