Q U I E T W O R L D

Q U I E T W O R L D

Gatherers

Morning ruptures
Snow-like it descends
Let our children be reborn
In a field of gold and diminishing napalm
Existence on a kite string, delicate and calm
We run aimlessly forever
Let our children be reborn on the day after the war

Q U I E T W O R L D

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