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Poem

Oleh Lysheha

song 212

There are so many superstars, overgrown with weeds..
Somewhere Tom Jones
Is still singing about that green-green grass..
On such a night under the moon among the trees
Cinnamoned mushrooms
Practice choreography..
And I think I should return
To the Milky Way,
Churn up that warm dust..
On such a night
The grandest operas play for free
To those at sea, to those awake
Ella Fitzgerald
Smears herself blue singing
We shall not perish of this earth! —
No, no, no don\'t you cry —
Like a willow weeping over water..

SONG 212

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song 212

There are so many superstars, overgrown with weeds..
Somewhere Tom Jones
Is still singing about that green-green grass..
On such a night under the moon among the trees
Cinnamoned mushrooms
Practice choreography..
And I think I should return
To the Milky Way,
Churn up that warm dust..
On such a night
The grandest operas play for free
To those at sea, to those awake
Ella Fitzgerald
Smears herself blue singing
We shall not perish of this earth! —
No, no, no don\'t you cry —
Like a willow weeping over water..

song 212

There are so many superstars, overgrown with weeds..
Somewhere Tom Jones
Is still singing about that green-green grass..
On such a night under the moon among the trees
Cinnamoned mushrooms
Practice choreography..
And I think I should return
To the Milky Way,
Churn up that warm dust..
On such a night
The grandest operas play for free
To those at sea, to those awake
Ella Fitzgerald
Smears herself blue singing
We shall not perish of this earth! —
No, no, no don\'t you cry —
Like a willow weeping over water..
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