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I'm writting down
I'm writting on
On a bark of trees
On pebble stones
I'm writting down

Where the soft moss grows

We're not alone
We're not alone

Such an awkward race
Such troubled souls
Maybe a few
But more that one

This rain of august lights
Is coming through the hole in the roof
It's late and we're not so young

But everything seems to be fresh and
New

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