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To my ancestors, I wished you would have never come To this dreamland, imagineland, make it what you want land. Your hard work and broken backs Trump doesn't give a shit about your land
When down comes the sun, Up comes the moon. As the stars shine brightly down on the children of the world, They go to their secret escape. They call it dreamland.
Crashing waves and endless seas all across the weeping willow tree. Mists and winds and children’s song leave an echo through them all. And in this whimsy of life we find a spirit in warm delight.
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