I hear that the axe has flowered.
I hear that the place can't be named.
I hear that the bread which looks at him
heals the hanged man,
the bread baked for him by his wife,
I hear that they call life
our only refuge.
I hear that the axe has flowered.
I hear that the place can't be named.
I hear that the bread which looks at him
heals the hanged man,
the bread baked for him by his wife,
I hear that they call life
our only refuge.
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