In a dreamwe quarrel againdon't love each otherour eyes are
A grey December day in the cemetaryhe is standing at
A gate to acity of green marble lightnever seen so
From my armchair I look into the future, see the
So flee this place oh wandereras soon as you have
Great fires, happy facesa boiling cauldron before the eyesthe blood
Within the misty late year's forestIn times when slouds and
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