ben: black flies on the windowsill.

divine postman: that we are, that we are to hold.

ben: winter stole summer’s thrill.

divine postman: and the river’s cracked and cold.

ben: see the sky is no man’s land, a darkened plumed.

divine postman: hope here needs a humble hand, not a fox found in you.

ben: no man is an island. oh! this i know.

divine postman: but can’t you see?

ben: maybe you were the ocean when i was just a stone.

divine postman: black flies on the windowsill.

ben: that we are, that we are to hold.

divine postman: comfort came against my will.

ben: and every story must grow old.

divine postman: still i be a traveler- a gypsy’s reigns to face.

ben: but the road is wearier with that fool found in your face.

divine postman: no man is an island. oh! this i know.

ben: but can’t you see?

divine postman: maybe you were the ocean, when i was just a stone.

ben: no man is an island. oh! this i know.

divine postman: but can’t you see.

ben: maybe you were the ocean when i was just a stone.

divine postman: so honey here iAM take me where thou will for me to go.

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