The times we had. Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow. Were not all bad. We put our feet just where they had, had to go. Never to go. The shattered soul. Following close but nearly twice as slow. In my good times. There were always golden rocks to throw at those who admit defeat too late. Those were our times, those were our times And I will love to see that day. That day is mine. When she will marry me outside with the willow trees. And play the songs we made. They made me so. And I would love to see that day. Her day was mine.
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