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Staring intently at the never-ending and ever-mending fabric of time,
Hail! yells the soft Spoken Chief Sealth, "The Sound Waves," a whisper,
Frequencies bend and bounce off of all that found us and to this day, continue to surround us, as we tell fairy tales, as no less than frail fact,
The strings my child, walk a trail along the neck of the wood as the wire teethed faces beg to be pressed,
Footsteps!? the sounds rhythmic and unfailing unrelenting freedom locked inside the shackles of the binding contract signed with the famous signature of time
Love, my dear, a journey, a song, a passion, and a practice, the ever-practiced spirit, the ever-practiced nonsense, the enveloped alliteration, the spirit of love.
Music, my darling children, Music
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