You have too ask me why, as you so long,
but deep as she, 'the open roaring sea
and consolations, 'where there is song
and Brought up by you/you comb my hair
arms swinging, 'walking talking us along
singing a song the child is in, waist deep;
If that voice when it decides to leave me.
Hearing what is fact you heard it not from me
that I have been so long, it is never forgotten
and any thing which finds my life in death,
my res·ur·rect·ed, breath you have inside,
and hearing your soft throatily, hold my voice,
each song,
'You sing, waves combing past me, yesterday.
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