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L.U.C.A.
02:31
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For having barely begun & so suspended in the distance
What a fire it's got ; unabashedly persistent
I should try to sow at least
Spirit across the fields & leas
It flew along in muzzled cry
To invite these trembling, inviolate sighs
I requited the source only to sense its pre-decline
To the same point once again, it is lucid & crystalline
I have braided the wind ; such an unrepentant killer
What a path it's got, wound among the rows of pillars
Dry the land & its dreary guile
To ramify & to exile
On fallow ground, the rot is blight
Defocusing a wearied, oblivious rite
But I'm inclined to feel the freeze
Weathering all the brutal breezes
Each is alone in frail reply
& virtue is their only real ally
I'm a little bit hoarse & in need of some repose
Skirt the same edge once again, from wherever it arose
I have greeted the void, so shadowy in peak resistance
What a pull it's got ; unequivocally consistent
[Lyric inspiration from Athanasios Maniopoulos]
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Ø
00:38
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Benoît Pioulard Brooklyn, New York
Plectrums & pictures &c. since 1984.
Let gentleness prevail.
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