Metal Domain

A hundred years from now, dear heart, We shall not care at all, It will not matter then a whit, The honey or the gall. The summer days that we known Will all forgotten and be flown; The garden will be overgrown Where now the roses fall. A hundred years form now , dear heart, We shall not mind the pain; The throbbing crimson tide of life Will not have left a stain. The song we sing together, dear, The dream we dream together here, Will mean no more than means a tear Amid the summer rain. ...
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