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If you seem to be running air,
Fighting off waves of dispare,
The silver light will surly show,
Shining brighter than the snow.

With falling mind,
And sacrid mind,
You'll soon find,
The way home to me.

The patter of foot fall in the snow,
Making life that will not grow,
A sudden colour in the white,
A single flower has found life.

With falling mind,
And sacrid mind,
You have found,
The way home to me.