wind swirlin aroun'
with every hair goin 70 miles an hour
A force that is pushin your fingers to move
As your toes are beeboppin
to some old jammin grove
Everything's movin, but your mind is still
not just your everyday-or'inary thrill
just another sojourner... these feet are not my own, these hands are merely just on loan, they were made to be used and make love known, a fruit of a seed once long ago sown... and though the sojourner carries on as the wind is blown, she knows that she's never ever ever alone.
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