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agonia 
￭ November 
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Lost in the Montaines of Bucovina
I would carry my longing, gracefully, Through its sweet hills I would sigh out of missing you. Feeling the spring brezee Whispering on my nape And ravished by your love The world I shall leave to oblivion. To loose my footsteps on its paths Alwais thinking of you. To put my longing into lyrics Forgetting all things, forgetting myself. Gura Humorului, June 12 2000
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