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Nausicaa 371
Again the flying color of fire shimmers
Burning tiny birds against the sun
Mixed with frightened light
The memory of flying falling
Comes into the night
A man on a staircase
Adrift in a storm
Stares out
Searching for a raft of bones and
The rusty guns of the old
Deliver the young to slavery in cloaks of instinct.
A yellow glass held up to the sky
To catch the sight of flight over ocean we
Hang these frugal prayers above the water
And try to witness your fall
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