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Green September burned to October brown, Bare November led to December's frozen ground. The seasons stumbled 'round our drifting lives are bound to a falling Crescent Noon. Feather clouds cry a vale of tears to earth, Morning breaks and no one sees a quiet mountain birth. Dressed in a brand new day the sun is on it way to a falling Crescent Noon. You and I were born like the breaking day, All our seasons all our green Septembers burn away. Slowly we'll fade into a sea of midnight blue and a falling Crescent Noon.
