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Ode To Maya On Neruda's tomb, we lied, Soft the moon of august sounds a cicada, Blue the fester hue of silence, flags of Iran, Green for the broken soil, White for the broken toe, Red for the broken song, Rejoice, my fellows on the open road, Breathe! ¡­ for there is no sound so¡­ There, the journey unfolds before your eyes, Surely, you have seen this film before, The winding roads with the swaying trees of gold, The constant winds rustling the tired leaves, The standard drone of the q