Flying down the hill

And there she flies

down the hill like a bird

spreading her wings

feeling the rush

Passing these age old golden rocks, these rusty brown trees

some almost lost signs of life in the cold autumn sun

And so she flies down there

down the hill like a bird

feeling the wind in her feathers

the world was good

The world was good, because there was no world

Was there good?

There was just this hill

these age old golden rocks, these rusty brown trees

slowly dying in the cold autumn sun

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