Feathers, feathers across the ever snow
scattering to find the woman, who lost them long ago
she might be your lover
and I might be your friend
but lovers you know, they come and they go
but friends last till the end
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“Above all, we are coming to understand that the arts incarnate the creativity of a free people. When the creative impulse cannot flourish, when it cannot freely select its methods and objects, when it is deprived of spontaneity, then society severs”- JFK