Slowly, genltly with trembling fingers
The twilight caresses the dying day.
I walk the streets
Listening to the sounds of my world
Others do not see or hear
The whispered cries of those lost
I need them, As they need me
A dance of chance in a passing night
Someday I will break free
From this lonly wodering
One day I will find
The one who calls in the night
Some day
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