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Spring.
It's overly cunning Winter Lands, and hair's turning, burning for that race running the Hinterlands. Ring that bell! Tell!

Tell them now
how You raised from hell for reasons right to be that running fire.

Your hair's going to yell i full length of forlorn desire and never more mirroring Your sunsets flow.

So go and go
and tell them, tell!

The moon is blue

The moon is blue

The moon is blue when respire
and Sun can finaly rest

in the Well

In the Well of Fire

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