The maiden of sahara
Combs through your hair
Leaves of foes talk rusty
With peers already asleep in dust
The sol their fare share
With spirit shadows lost
Traveled with yester-rains
Now overfed with drought
The lone man appetite
Long thirst for the freedom
And cure within your bosom
I don’t know if they could last longer
The bath in absent tears
Or the gains of crying clouds
Who would have thought
With your cup running over
Could you stretch healing hand


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