When the gilded sun would outlive
The power of my words
I would be no more to feel
Due to the oblivious enmity.
Half sunk air in visage of atmosphere
Would be remain here
Lonely but many trees would peep into
My survival which is no more.
The power of my words
I would be no more to feel
Due to the oblivious enmity.
Half sunk air in visage of atmosphere
Would be remain here
Lonely but many trees would peep into
My survival which is no more.
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