Elegy of silent windows of wind in the boughs of the trees
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of the plain of lights wrapped up in a grief
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The crest of roof broken'n'left walls overgrown of grass'n'wine
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white shrub washed down of drops of storm windows bunged with rotten boards
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And just the birds live here wanderers from distant hills
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the bringin' the breath of a space breath of unreal impetus
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And Just The Birds...
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| Cemetery Of Scream |
