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Hopeless Romantics
I still listen to the ants playing the flute
I still listen to the rhythm of raindrops on my rooftop
I still see laughter in your eyes
The colour of wine
And I hear your voice in the cooing of birds
Whispering loudly in my ears
They called me names
One of which is a hopeless romantic
It is ironed in my brain
Bose
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