The Mid of this eve of night,
woke in I the Moon bright,
the shine streamed in to Hi,
up beyond the dream of try.
As no answer I free to fly,
the Mind in Real is by design,
a galaxy or two to be,
the cosmic drives my I to see.
Released from freedom to be the lines,
I soar the open road divine,
captured by no persons lie,
the truth remains in every pane.
Sites that speak never talk,
the standing still is just to balk,
arms are crossed at feet of cost,
viable for the albatrossed.
Import flights with no Head lights,
the bulb is planted in the lamp,
a silent sort ignoring fee,
originals write the guidance shite.
Sea across the lakes of Dune,
the Apple bite for another stooge,
the ocean filled with tears that drop,
from the eyes of all that propped,
the demise of such spent lives,
I watch to say the testify.
Porting follows to read the bird,
feathers spread to week absurd,
no stop to halt the return,
an Island calls to only Stern.
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