The Creation of the hills is but a small
fairytale
Our Heartbeats bear witness
We Spy in a field the irresistible elephants
Stars pity us
The Word we bear is but a ruse
A Horse startles at something she cannot see
‘Tis a curiosity nothing more
The World favours Gold and White
While they are lovely
We only have imitations
The Ends justify the means
Whistle while we wreck the boat
Painted strings
What little time we have we spend visiting
Earth bears witness
How silent it lies down
The Wind Blows around the Island
It starts
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