A summerset to my eyes, with memories of a child
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I had no responsibilities,
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to help or to have more than I could hold onto
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It's a slow song to me, desired
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I run through the tree, my desire
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As I wonder now all's grown cold,
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but in rememberance there's a story told
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Of a softer song for a softer soul,
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and the innocent heart to hold
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-----------------
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Desired
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Noise Ratchet |