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Father
You are always going...
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It seems tremulous, when I clench my eyes,
But the more I strain, I realize...
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In this Spanish night,
The healing music of love, like the wind...
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I am not getting any younger
Yes I already lived my...
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Decadent delicacy
Of a soul undermined...
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I have a piggy bank
That I started one...
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Woke up at 6am this morning
dreaming that you were tucked in...
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You always say
That I am you...
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Fragrances,
the decalcomania of elegant flowers...
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I have seen THE horror
of a place where truth does not exist...
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We dream without me and you,
gasping the fragile air...
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Me—
the meadow of the night...