your sleep is hard but your eyes are open
red, the moon is in your closed fists
search like a blind man to find it
good grass can be bad grass...
sleep young death-in your desert
I burn forgetfulness in which I can no longer be
new sun shines in your eyes
new sun may burn the bad steps
sleep on great sleep in the swaying of the wind
if you are only yours who am I
it is difficult the thought hunted under the gentle eye
I am left to be only who I am
all you are is everything you have
you won't lose if you try to give

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