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So I believe
God’s promise |
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2 |
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A period
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For search
and scrutiny |
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Reckless and
Amusement |
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Love and hate |
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The feelings grow
up |
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Disfigure the
whiteness of the heart |
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And step by step |
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We breathe the smell of
death |
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3 |
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Unfinite
mouths of the dawn |
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Falling in it
the dark of the night
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And there is
no way to it
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Propagating
in its special gardens |
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From cameleer
of the bullet |
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Which
engenders the death |
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And clanks of
the splinters |
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Cosmic dust
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On the sides
of memory’s grievance |
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From an open
bier
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4 |
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The salvation
is a song |
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Pours a well
on the solar disk |
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I see you
embracing a fortune |
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From the
freer longing
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In a homeland
that’s torn |
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Without a sin |
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Your enjoying
meek face |
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A
fountain of cultivated mine |
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5
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In
the light of the sun |
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We
will hear in other hearts |
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Song of the linden |
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From the lips
of a chorus’s Angel |
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Like the
soaked breath in dieing beauty |
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A cordiality repeats for eternity |
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We are in it the victim |
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And in the memory of the waiting |
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We will stay walking and dancing |
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Like the blown currents |
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No trace remains from it |
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Just the equivalent between the early |
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Departure and the waiting |
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6 |
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As if I’m the oddments of a mine |
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That hasn‘t
exploded yet. |
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When the sun sets |
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Veils hoop it with shyness |
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The stars are insane in the sky |
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They strut |
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Vain by their lusters |
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The
absent-mindedness flutters |
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The doorstep
of the salvation |
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The
rejoicings will be concluded |
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Behind the
years covered by wars |
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And amalgam
cars |
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7 |
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Slow dawn
when you walk |
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Shaded by the
losing years |
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After that |
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Remember |
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You
are only a teardrop |
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Or a flash
from water |
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With no color
to it |
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No taste |
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It smells sky |
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8 |
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Smile |
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When your
green herbals change to white |
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And the
warmth of the sun |
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Burns your
slim back |
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When the butterflies dance |
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On flowers
calm |
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And the
endurance becomes a worldly cloth |
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9 |
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The sky as if
it was in worldly commotion |
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Their doors
clatter |
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The paired
wings |
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White
snowy |
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Soft like
silk |
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Fresh like
candy |
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Thus our
methods |
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Embrace each
other by compact form |
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Light of the
truth flashes before the departure |
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And every
pain sits down on its two knees |
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10 |
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From the
folds of the horizon |
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The blackness
prepares for the jump |
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On the edge
of the herbals |
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The sash of
fire |
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11 |
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Holidays of
death are not concluded |
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Verily we
gather everyday |
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By a new
death |
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Our fates
were detached like clothes |
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Of charming
girls |
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Short like
our dreams |
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Soft like
transmitters laps of Angel |
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In the party
of the last spark of life |
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The
meeting of respiration and the bier of life
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Written and Translated by : Said Alwaely |
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Detroit 05 /20 /2004 |
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