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Songs in my head all the
night all the night,
storms on the shore
when I’m dead, when I’m
dead, art for the store
lions on call, heaven on ground,
when it’s free, when it’s free.

She walks through the
rain, a million
lives lighting themselves
as it pours,
she holds the soft cheeks
and new borns, grandchildren
without hands. She isn’t
as famous as she’d like to
be. ‘Welcome to the sea’,
she looks a the writing
on the waves. She is only
charismatic when she’s moving,
only seen in the sun, only
married when it rains.

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