You told me of a place more lovely than Camelot or El Dorado,
like a vision in a fable where my heart longs to go,
You told me how the monsoon rain there falls rhythmically,
pouring down on the deep, dark enchanted jungle's canopy,
You spoke with a nostalgic spark in your eyes like the most capitvating storyteller,
and I as your diligent listener held on to every detail I could remember,
For someday I intend to travel to your homeland,
to see if your world is one I could ever understand
Shall I see faces that look like yours there?
Would they forgive me if I stare?
Will I feel your presence all around,
as I wander on that sacred ground?
The scorching sun shall set me free,
when I feel the warmth you never gave me
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