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The Hills
November 10, 2009
The country is a prison cell
With silence that screams
Hills stretch to the stars above
Like crashing waves in a stormy breeze
Rolling hills of distant seas
Left alone with nagging thoughts
And wining whining winds
wanting waiting wishing
to escape the monster within
The country is a prison cell
with walls of blooming bliss
The wind is sweet
inviting you in
Like a hidden devils kiss
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