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I was walking on feet just like my fathers,
and my knees were trying to reach you at your mothers.
'Cause my nose was screaming that you smelled like a lover,
but my hands
were happy to treat you like a brother then.
"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; / There is a rapture on the lonely shore; / There is society, where none intrudes, / By the deep sea, and music in its roar; / I love not man the less, but Nature more..." - Lord Byron
