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Eight Bells
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Touch Me
Barren boughs arch over our heads Moved by the wind They bend or break Touch me
Shattered numb reaction to gale or gentle breeze Don't prefer one or the other Trees withstand whims and chance Touch me
Your love permeates / We say the words Your love decimates / We feel the twinge There is pain in being true / We say the words There is pain in knowing you / Lack of progress
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