"living is the toughest thing there is"
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Drift away, faint, modest and coy.
And drifting where? A land in the sky?
My heart, too, drifts far, lost in the wind.
Drifting, like cigarette smoke.
Drift away, cold, melancholy and secretive.
And drifting where? The foot of the world?
The mysterious, yet-unseen face,
known only by a singing voice.
As full as an afternoon nap,
drifting toward the sky of skies above the fields.
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