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It's a greeting day from the morning Sun as the moss grows into light
Caving in the averages of time
It's a beautiful lackadaisical ethic from my barren mind
I'm running out of time
The feelings brought from the distant trumpets
Separate into the pulsing summints
A mind
Covered in this grime
The language brought from the distant trumpets carved into my spine
Don't know to go when they so might
