Most exultant gods in windows and minor colors of moments,
the fragile mechanisms of the hearts
and egos of the rovers of the weeks.
Hark!
Hark!
Hark!
Hark! Hark!
There's no portion of idiosyncrasy among us,
playing with the world with unforgettable memories.
Those fragments are remembered,
rots of fate that breathe out of secrets.
The
bars don't allow you
to free yourself,
harp of life back down and see its feelings.
With a joyous beat of frenzy,
combing by the summit where it's long to sleep,
by the sun of lost lions.
Oh,
exultant gods in windows and minor colors of moments,
the fragile mechanisms of the hearts
and egos of the rovers of the weeks.
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