the songs that I hear
Hydras wine divine and non to forgettable
prone and in a coma
the bristle of a brush the sands of yesterday
and waves that lead to soma
a paint by the meadow
an epic movement yet again
friends of the present
like presents yet to open.
... Suns warmth non dormant
a catapult
beats notes measured
discipline and pleasure
alive and striving with dessert in the desert
open arms a beckoned call
always give and take
to journey on the soldiers song
until we meet again.
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