If , at this time the wind out of the window , I will have a reason to fly . Let me start it from April , if you understand my mind cumulative grief and joy , I will freely , like the light swallows ; If you are not aware of my worries , I will feel dejected , as long weakness in confinement homing birds. I tell you terrible memories are crafted so that the heart is aching to provoke the lacrimal gland.
Then at a certain time and space , someone will tell me , my name, my past. Even if I had changed dramatically.
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