Shall the rain continue 'til deep in the night, long after the doves among naked trees have slept . . . until every song played, every choice weighed, and each silvery teardrop solemnly wept? Must the evenings darken the most glorious of days and conjure dreams behind my blinded eyes . . . nearly going insane from the relentless rain, tattooing 'til a part of my soul dies? Shall symphonies unfinished in memory lurk to haunt heart and soul and caverns within? Or will the warmth of your kiss linger long on my lips, and, at last, through tired hainds, our song will end . . . And one day shall I again sunshine hear and music feel when you whisper my name . . . through all that is new, once I loved you; I could again love you the same . . . I could again love you the same.
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