There's bodies beneath my feet.
They slowly lose there voices,
along with themselves.
But they are never truly gone.
For they live again in the trees,
in the grass,
in the flowers
until winter comes,
and then they die again.
They slowly lose there voices,
along with themselves.
But they are never truly gone.
For they live again in the trees,
in the grass,
in the flowers
until winter comes,
and then they die again.
Brin11
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