The crystal city is shivering,
The unreal smoke is delivering,
An Easter Angel is flying,
It hardly goes to spring.
The matter comes to the strings,
To the old tales that eternity brings.
Wipe your eyes that weep!
It rains as in a sleep.

The poem is unwittingly shortened,
The sun is between the scapulas,
The bees are shivering from payola,
The morning is still dar...

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