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Write this for me,
In fear my pen cries,
We can turn this brown grass green.
In rotten hands life may sleep,
In a dying heart’s existence can turn meaningless,
In it,
The past may walk in heavy iron shoes,
Don’t take your life,
Just kiss the dust.

No black sheep exists,
Hate may hit the heart,
The sense of living can run,
The storm of pain may raise,
In the palms of death,
Without the juice of life,
Don’t fall down,
Let the sorrow fly,
Raise and kiss the dust.

Don’t let those tears fall,
Believe and hold the roots of your tree,
Let your soul speak to your heart,
In silence,
Your heart won’t take that poison,
Your neck won’t take that string,
In peace you shall breath,
Just kiss the dust.

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