Again and againthey blend into one, my father the morning pushes through moonlight love. So what`s sleep? Sleep. I`m tired, so tired, but it seems that there`s someone here withme. We are the wakeful, wry, watchful. We`re awaiting. Deathless ones. A story at three with the shrillest of cries. My mind fights with the sparkles in the corner of my eyes. I hear the morning choir sing to me their elegy. So beautiful. They sing to me their elegy. Requiem
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