High native-grasses near the stream
Wet logs, no fire to be kindled
I run away from dismal peal
But i'm just looping in a wheel
Ch.
I left myself in raining day
Like shabby book in attic
I bought a map, but see no way
My dreams are so pathetic
I see no raibow after storm
Black feathers slice through gloomy sky
Just hide me in your distance nook
And give the last and painful look
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