in the crystal-ball morning.
I wander forests with spotted sight,
where ambivalent birds are soaring.
In the crystal-ball morning,
I peer into the drying pool,
where ambivalent birds are soaring.
The impartial sun seems so cruel.
I peer into the drying pool,
searching for someone I've kissed.
The impartial sun seems so cruel–
though there's one thing I missed.
Searching for someone I've kissed,
I wander forests with spotted sight,
though there's one thing I missed:
The sun reflects everything white.
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