| A millenium passed away, small forests became jungles, mountains were devoured
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| from sand violently exiled from sand violently exiled from vast deserts with
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| the help of hands made from storms*
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| It was as if someone wanted to erase the traces
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| The triumphant laughs of liberation are forgotem
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| The world that once seemed nes and vibrant turned pale and old
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| Why?
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| Maybe because of the strange inhabitants were to eager to forget the path that
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| led them through
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| In their journey they were leaving behind not only spoken: not only part of
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| their body but also part of their mind
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| And they became so tired, all they demanded was to rest
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| It wasn´t difficult
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| There was not any apparent changes
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| So a strange kind of sleep
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| Fell among the lot
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| The more they cultivated this habbit
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| To seek in the deep matters of Lethargy
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| The more their enviroment changed
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| It was a curious transformation
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| It was as if someone wanted to erase the traces
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| Hoever there is one trace that will ever remain
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| Week as a whisper it can reopen the way
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| Just listen
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| Your Fathers knew these words by heart even those that never crossed,
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| the eerie side |