Still, the water stood.
Look, you see the wood.
Gold, there must be pounds.
Cut, inside of crowns.
Dive, down to your ship.
Kick, so hard you swim.
Raise, your sails and roes.
You know that it won’t;
You know you must go.
Color in the paper planes;
Line it up and take your aim.
Cut the wind and dip down south;
Fly it so it can’t be found.
Make a path of rotted sticks;
Fill yourself with nervousness.
Break the rules and tell no one;
Never stop; don’t hurt someone.
(Color in the paper planes;)
Fists, of solid gold
Shine, through finger bones
Doors, are broken down
Time is running out
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