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The Valley is my home.
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Are you alright?
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I know it is forbidden.
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Sixsmith. I climb the steps of the Scot monument every morning.
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And all becomes clear.
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Wish I could make you see this brightness.
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Don't worry, all is well.
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All is so perfectly, damnably well.
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I understand now,
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that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions.
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All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended.
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One may transcend any convention,