How lovely is the morning after a stint in the netherworld,
netherworld of idiocy.
How lovely is the morning.
When my feet stumble at the sound of life plucking heartstrings,
I hear the words sing
from the depths of my soul:
Shhh, heart, softly, softly.
Softly softly,
Softly, softly.
Shh, heart, softly:
Do not pound for the past's revenge.
Here is where your faint fluttering shall
Reside.
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