We must wait for the last song
it cannot be forced,
it comes when it needs to
come into existence.
,'
it is like the infant which
is without mind
it is gained with nurture
like a tree it grows.
It is watered with our tears
and toils to till,
it is nourished by the soil
it was born from.
Into it we made carvings of
our true names,
by the barch was covered
as wound healed.
Into the wells and rivers
did they flow
through the artisteries
to create a soul.
It was taken by the wind
like dust it flew
around the entire world
to make a spirit.
',
We must wait for the last song
it cannot be forced,
it comes when it needs to
come into existence.
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