You smell trees from chemical tissue
You lick the sea from briny salt
You lay on a rug of grass
You hope this lasts forever
You can see the dark and sticky sky
You might grab the starlights
You shall touch a silver line of clouds'
When thick black mud sucks you in
Living may not be easy
Don't cut your wings, or you'll fall down
Even if you're running now on the ground
We're just clay dolls wrapped by fabrics
All the time
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