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Право петь грустные песни принадлежит не тому,у кого есть повод для печали, а тому, чей голос звучит горестно.Тому, кто просыпается в слезах, не умея вспомнить отчего.

Once upon a night,
Weary of this useless fight,
Lying in a field of wild flowers,
Reminded of Mother Nature’s real power,
I remembered that fireflies,
Are the spirits of those who dies,
And take their time to join the skies.
Take me with you in this land of dreams,
Oh can’t you hear my screams?
Here I am, waiting for you,
Here I am, waiting to go through,
Alice’s looking glass and its mysteries,
Waiting for the fireflies to hear this last song, this sad melody.
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