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One Two Three Four Five
Pass down some memories to the rising paper lanterns.
Trapped in the souls of the cold, dying and so very poor. Just close your eyes and count to five, and when again, the grass grows, all pain will melt. How simple such a task was. One two three four five. However, the eyes of the hungry and homeless live on in the hearts the grass blades. So play on your piano, a crescendo on strings. Why do we keep grounding those without wings?
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