| The Children of the summer’s end
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| Gathered in the dampened grass,
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| We played Our songs and felt the London sky
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| Resting on our hands.
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| It was God’s lang.
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| It was ragged and naive.
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| It was Heaven.
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| Touch, We touched the very soul
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| Of holding and and every life.
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| We claimed the very source of joy ran through.
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| It didn’t, but it seemed that way.
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| I kissed a lot of people that day.
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| Oh, to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that
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| swept that afternoon,
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| To paint that love upon a white balloon,
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| And fly it from the topest top of all the tops that
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| man has pushed beyond his brain.
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| Satori must be something just the same.
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| We scanned the skies with rainbow eyes and saw
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| machines of every shape and size.
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| We talked with tall Venusians passing through.
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| And Peter tried to climb aboard but the Captain
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| shook his head
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| And away they soared,
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| Climbing through the ivory vibrant cloud.
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| Someone passed some bliss among the crowd.
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| And We walked back to the road, unchained.
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| «The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
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| and We’re Gonna
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| Have a Party.»
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| «The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
|
| and We’re Gonna
|
| Have a Party.»
|
| «The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
|
| and We’re Gonna
|
| Have a Party.»
|
| «The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
|
| and We’re Gonna
|
| Have a Party.»
|
| «The Sun Machine is Coming Down,
|
| and We’re Gonna
|
| Have a Party.» |