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Steven And I In The Field Of Stars
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Circles within circles We ride through them all Circles within circles "In the midst of the Southern regions..." There a man rests and weeps This year, next year, Sometimes, Never, oh never If we think then that there is No joy But listen: On the edge of winds Is the rustling of the greens All many greens, manifold and lovely The sighing and crying of the wind The lovely boughs The lovely light The lovely light The lovely starts, jewelly nobles


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