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You will go into the forest
-- Where the water will drip --
And put your knuckle under your chin
And lean into your legs
And think,

While the vermin run under your feet
And the clouds fly overhead,
And the sun sets.

Below the ground the dead are blind
And the sky is dumb with angels, whatever they say
You are deaf.

Why did you go in?

You were waiting for something from the trees,
You were waiting for an original voice;
Now you are out among everything.

You had to be there.