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*Various sounds of movement can be heard, as though the machine recording is not known to the occupant.*
*A soft humming slowly turning into words, a low baritone, hearable only to those who actually really Try to listen, although thankfully in tune.*
In the moonlight I felt your heart, Quiver like a bowstrings pulse. In the moons pale light, You looked at me, Nobody knows your heart.
When the sun has gone I see you, Beautiful and haunting but cold. Like the blade of a knife so sharp and so sweet, Nobody knows your heart.
All of your sorrow, grief and pain, Locked away, in the forest of the night, Your secret heart, belongs to the world, Of the things that sigh in the dark, Oh the things that cry in the dark.
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