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I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
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The Moon likes to kiss in the boring bits and refuses
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without detail, the myth, the archetype, the soul
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Then the moon will rise
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that’s all there is. Que sera sera. What can you do
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We know ourselves only
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They say you are made of clouds, they say you
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words have no main switch. But all those little
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in the human heart, meanings like sailboats / setting out
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my mind, in its ascent,