Lowland Hum
when the world sleeps
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There is a place I visit on some nights when the world sleeps.
Sun steals the memory of that distant space. I'm left with a hint of a taste.
I have a memory of heaven, but it's thinning like smoke on the wind.
And I'm starting to doubt it. I'm thinking it might never have been.
But the strong desire keeps my feet moving. The fire is not an illusion.