You, wander through the fields,
Your, sorrow as I advocate the
All is calm, all is quiescent-the colour magenta,
The afternoon breeze
No one feels the pain,
The pain deep inside that I
Standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary,
The
Through the winding forest where the bodies of
Disillusioned peasants lay
Translucent plains envisioned beyond the horizon,
I hear the flapping of
standing upon the portal where my eyes have become weary,
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