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YouThe simple words I cannot say, the barrier keeps them away
It takes only a word, how absurd
Then you take me away, where my heart stays affray
You left behind every evidence of them, withering behind a beautiful me
You're building a stronger stem, where I can finally agree
That I'm beautiful in every way
You are an endless void, with nothing but love
While perfection is something you never mastered,
I am a book, chosen at random
You read me well
In the end, I am only a light
to brighten up your fearful night.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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