The dust that I miss is not bored The dried willow stem is bent and has no ax Even though it is the story of the story Removes from this time and takes my rhyme one by one Tired of the news If you come to say it is sad, it is up to my grief.
Dust I miss I dont have to be bored The dried willow stem I bent and bend One has been but my song is going to be Removes this time and takes away
