Porcelain Box

Far from fallen trees
Blended by my wounded knees
Treading on a path of green
I shook my milk and blood

Fretful farce fared well
Upon my burning column
Swaying, whistling, breaking dances
I fell from gracious land

Fearing fasting freemen cursing
Banished by my pirate map
Swimming through the stalemate
I clutched my oily genie

Ferocious feasting from sorrow
Upon my bloody feet
Sawing, creaking, screeching clouds
I gathered in a porcelain box

Friendly faces fed slowly
Brainwashed by my wishful awe
Running indoors with scissors
I mended the distance

Freemen formed famous lines
Upon my wave of swords
Flooding, trampling, cleaning house
I woke up by the trunk

Now forgotten, the Glen Dance of the Dance Glen

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