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She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder
And the rain
To quietly pass me by
This is just a scrapbook for all the unfinished/rough art. For the good stuff, visit kishoremohan.blogspot.com