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■ I know what you're thinking, father
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On the foamy shore of pure blue
Shells which remained smashed under Translucent drips from my bleeding sole Where ist thyself today? Tomorrow where ist I? A game of being, always not be found, always searched If only I could know thy name As did I with thy voice before the silence…. We are ready for the last incomplete violet rain The green rains from the musical seas await us Thyself does not know me… Never did!
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