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We were proud and young
Broken fool with lovers' lungs
She the risen seed
Her the shallow breath I breath
Like a dog I run
She the rabbit chased and won
Through a field of trees
Lost her way was lost on me
Should I hold on
Should I hold on
Summer's end will call
She the raise and both will fall
To the cold return
And no longer for her I burn
Writer(s): William Richard Fitzsimmons Ii
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