Walking alone, I return to myself.
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No need to say goodbye, everything is passing by.
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While the wind rises again.
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Apart from nearby worries and crowded noise.
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Soft echoes carry firm believes.
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I hold no illusions of the world, nor do I fluster
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Troubles are small, so I let my smile through.
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Spring is nothing special, except the one I’m in.
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Plants stay silent, holding the voice of the seasons.
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