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His image's still spinning in the carrousel
From which he fell
His heroes' eyes, eternal smile
Still fit me from the childhood's carrousel
From which he fell
In the palm of his hand
Still waving me
No tragedy amongst the lines
No worry in fortune tellers lies
But he fell, from purity to darkness' hell
Though an image's still spinning
Bestriding a painted horse
In some colored,
Distant, painful carrousel
