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| Later in the years a tale will be told
Of a night long ago when the moon shone white gold And on a spot beside a river they say it looks like blood For some roses grow wild there as red flower buds |
| But beyond the darkened forest; beyond your heart and mine
A note deep in thought quivers so elegantly; so divine A tear made of whispers; A tear made of broken dances This violin; This image; This me has finally lost her chances |