Exchange of Sparkles.

In a bunch of blurred people, you exclusively shine.

The breeze is running fast, music irrevocably fine.

In this moment, when I stare at you through dark,

The sparkles on your face bring sparkles on mine!

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Blowin’ in the wind!

How many times must the riots soar?

Before they can forever, fade.

How many times must I punctuate?

Before they can gleefully, bade.

 

The answer my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.

The answer is blowin’ in the wind!