Raising another tower
Crumbling in the shadow
Of the forming idea
Too tired for pride
A thunderous voice
In cold, wordless tongues
Resonate deep
In the heart of the night
The bittersweet song
Of a poets lament;
That even his best
Are but feeble translations
Crumbling in the shadow
Of the forming idea
Too tired for pride
In cold, wordless tongues
Resonate deep
In the heart of the night
Of a poets lament;
That even his best
Are but feeble translations
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