When eyes are turning over
cold dreams explode inside
The whisper of the maiden
are bags of endless lies
For times that are forgotten
the wind will pick the sage
From where they turn the chatter
into pictures of the prayed
I’d like to toast the river
for running to the sea
Not trapped by random figures
that spring with purity
Cause in the drum of rhythm
are ways to find the free
A lonesome call of wild
that shakes humanity
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