Wept on typewriters Staggering under the invisible banner of reality Bullet holes and rails in the stone wall Listen. Love, love, your flower of withered dream Birds invade night with cries. I am nowhere. Suddenly it's a brisk morning. I lose my thread and return again and again. Step by step you turn your life into a feast of love. I am fiercely happy in this solitude. I will go on wearing songs in the dead of night.
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