We are not the best
We are the best
We are not one of the nicest
Who else is there to tell old stories to?
Why bother to be selected and ousted right from the party?
The tales unfolds, and the old biships has a new salleo
Sail to be known, to venture into the deep, and by being known to the unknown, we serve what's needed
Necessary it is time to ever venture far to the caves
Over here, over here, there are many things to collect
By the merchant stall, or near the streets, keep your pockets sound, and your bags with you
Who knew, that no one can tell the stories until it was the time to be
Such are of the makings
What's needed and necessary is for us to peserve, than as muchly go against or battling the artificial deepfakers
Longing for the stories to be told, is a generational activity
Who knew how many trees listened to us, the one of the Oldie Folks
Rivers and river beds, the sea salts and river streams together weave an enchanted song that lasts eternally and lasts eventually to us all, of which is to be shared forever
Crossing roads, setting leafs, and collecting flowers for the hermits without degrees
Settle down, saddle up, the flowers are in the beds for oldie parks
I will leave some rest for some of u, to be shared, forever (...)
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