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like a mountain washed in rain
i stand here
with emptiness in my hand
you pour all the
molten lawa and yet
my hands do not burn
why do not they burn
the cold breeze that caresses your hairs
freezes the yawns
in the air
u are tired and i am weak
will a string resonate
with reason
when the music is already in the air
and i am not willing to stop
but i have to
the silence has strained
your eye brows
and u have indicated
where lies the direction
for next step
why do not i open my eyes
lest i see what
u intend to show me