Golden Train

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as I look down below
from above the blue skies,
there sits a majestic place
terracota and dry.

Where the Mountains speak
and the crispy Grass moan,
where the Pebbles envy
and the Sun bleaches bones.

As I fly to my nest
in the hard golden sea,
not another soul lurked
but dead Men and dead Trees.

Where a sense of adventure
lies deep in Her breast,
the unknown who have tried,
lie in this Hell to rest.





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