Oh my how I want to say these things to the world
with this voice, but what it is good for.
Thirty thousand lineages of thirsty priests
say the same words for an eternity,
still not heard, or rarely.
This voice overpowers my song,
squirts the ink from pens over the parchment,
bursts the bottles, cracks the casks,
drowns even the ground with drunkenness.
Breaks through my narrow reed throat
to leave a clue in a single sound...
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