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Medo
As the wind blows,
It rolls with the memories,
Memories of the past,
Which neither rust nor dies,
But brings the hurtful spike of life,
As the pine tree grew in water,
So did the weasel,
Like diesel so rich,...
It rolls with the memories,
Memories of the past,
Which neither rust nor dies,
But brings the hurtful spike of life,
As the pine tree grew in water,
So did the weasel,
Like diesel so rich,...
