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Outside the shadows of our dreams
there's no magic in those moonbeams
to shine a light upon our souls.
In the darkest of hours when the shimmers
of light invade the heavens,
Aurora straddles o’er the poles;
there she doth unveil her skirts of green,
and dances with her reds and her blues as bright
as the sprites as they joyfully play.
Outside the shadows of our dreams
there's no magic in those moonbeams
that shine a light upon our souls.
When ever we lose control
there's only headaches from the vine.
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