You're like a Cleveland Gray when there's daffodils blooming in the alleys and the sylvan cyclists glide by in the afternoon and when you dream the Guardians of the bridge stretch out their arms and drop their vehicles from a great height and the splash into the river sends ripples to the lake and back again to shore when a mysterious gull flies out of the valley his call bounces off the top of our towering city and then vanishes when you wave your wand and change the melody.
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