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LOVELORN'S TELLTALE

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Amidst the mountain of grief i lay,
stream of tears running by,
joy never by florals
sorrow ever by thorns,
where i wander lost...

Oh the dry and gullible twigs
Oh the breeze of rattling leaves
Oh my west wind answer
is it what fate reserves
for me or the pleasant breeze
will take, me
to heights far away.
from this grave, a bay
that would caress me to dreams
that light my way...





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