At a time of the year,
The market day is near.
Little children so much prepares that the day is scared.
To my cloudy avail they really be no fear,
Even here, there and then.
My whole world shouts to the thin air,
In merriment of the family that will repair.
You wouldn’t hear,
Besides, the noise and clangings of our ears,
Is profitable for the wiping of our tears.
No rearing of any lost,
And daring to us.
I shall bear witness to a souvenir at my door.
So of, I go to Julliard,
Where the people are beautifully at,
With great music listened by my heart,
And my lad being so glad,
Enjoying the tones of what is heard,
The music from the soul of soundless harp,
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