| A stranger once whispered:
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| A fallen angel is someone not aware of his authentic identity
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| Because the fall occured nowhere except on the inner plains
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| And the broken wing was nothing but the bleeding memory
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| The creators of the prophecies
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| Have seen pages yet unturned
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| From a book that can not be turned
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| Or expressed from mouths of scorn
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| Observing the divine marriage
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| Between the solid soil and the ether
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| Step on the lightnings and ascend
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| On the topmost step of the earth
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| Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere
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| Endless are the joys of the infinite quest
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| For the timeless explorer
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| And the child that lurks inside
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| On the topmost step of the earth
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| Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere
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| A billion toys to play, countless more to invent
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| In the mental playground, around it’s solid tree
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| The creators of the prophecies
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| Have seen pages yet unturned
|
| From a book that can not be turned
|
| Or expressed from mouths of scorn
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| On the topmost step of the earth
|
| On the topmost step of the earth
|
| Stepping on the belt that surrounds the sphere |