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With all your empty words’ addresses...


With all your empty words’ addresses
The girl’s besotted and she’s bloomed,
For there she combs her golden tresses,
By festive mood she’s all-consumed.
Now summoned by the church bells ringing
For you she takes her prayer’s refrain.
The sun and sky to her you’re bringing,
You have become her tender rain.
Her eyes grow dim as thunder’s brewing
Uneven, often, comes her sigh.
For now before you flowers she’s strewing,
But only ask – for you she’ll die.