MAYBE THIS WAVE WILL BE A DECISIVE. MAYBE THIS STEP WILL BE THE FIRST FLIGHT. MAYBE THE RAINBOW WILL NEVER BE GREEN. IF NOT THE INKWELL IN YOUR HEAD IN THE TIME A TIDE. THE MAIN THING IS NOT TO LOSE HEAT. FLYING OVER THE NORTHERN SEAS. LISTEN TO RAYS AND STREAMS. KISS WHITE CAPS OF THE MOUNTAINS. THE SKY IS REFLECTED IN MY EYES, IN YOUR EYES. COOLING DOWN THE BREATH OF THE NORTH. OF COURSE IF YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT. WHEN WAS TURNING INTO A BIRD. AND I, LIKE ETERNITY, IS CHAINED TO THE RUSTY FENCE. COVERED WITH GLASS OF YOUR HOPELESS SPRING. YOU CALLED ME EVERY TIME AND EVERYWHERE. BUT YOU WERE WRONG – I HAVE NEVER HAD WINGS. SO MAYBE THIS WAVE WILL BE ALUSIVE. MAYBE THIS STEP WILL BE THE FIRST FLIGHT. MAYBE DEATHBLOW WILL NEVER BE THE FINAL SCENE. IF NOT THE INKWELL IN YOUR HEAD IN THE TIME A TIDE
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