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now that i have cooled to you
babylon-where i go dreaming
when freedom from her mountain height
sadly speaking
all those treasures that lie
risen from the dead
when the hours of day are numbered
up and down he goes
the agony of having too much power
we lay
sun stepped down from his golden throne
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
last midnight
it tells of good old times

 



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