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by Maritime

we are all souvenirs
people passing through here we're all forgotten ones
as the morning calls a steady drum
we are all silhouettes of everyone
we haven't met we'll be the kings and queens
forget the sun in golden dreams
we are all happy here we don't change
as the heavens near i could be the perfect son
if i would be overrun

Contributed by Julian H. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
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