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Bad News

de ILLusion

No mystery to eclipse the sun
Until the sculpture had begun
To etch and mold the dream
Which soon became a passing dame
A song for god singing
A face of yesterday.

Build a lady's base of sand
And stretched his willing gentle hand
To seek for help to shape
The life he had depended on
Which fell like rain and snow
A face of yesterday.

Man and music, low dusk gone
Four simple instruments or more
When they play together
Then they found his harmony
A cluttered symphony
A face of yesterday.

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