But this organ of blackness doesn't gets start
Pumping the air of love to get rid at last
The illness of rust is prevailing so fast
Been bubbling the cotton of love in my chest
Been blooming the dry heart ;out of rest
Been brushing the tangled veins of my heart
Been stumbling to face the reckless blast
The blossom of springing red love
Been sticking the wings on my dead dove
Watering the bone dry pitch of my heart
Escaping the curse of my gloomier past.
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