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Tears dried
On the soles of hardened boots
Flying in the dust
Of this earthly noise
Spirits being called
Among hills of unspeakable past
The good son or the unfulfilled father
Can offer nothing now
But a handful of dirt
So sorrow can fall back
To the roots of rocks on riverbed
There is always a voice behind this voice
A life after this life
Where a hawk climbs up
To the broken clouds
Another dark tear will drop
From the moon
Among trees the wind is listening
---LTG 2004
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