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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