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36 Don Mattera Blackness blooms Night drops liquid darkness From a wound in the sky Men look on my blackness As a weed that must die Here in the dark I feed on bitter bark And my hands bleed From planting thorny seed Come morning Come glorious light Return justice Heal my broken sight Ah, black sunbeams fall on the slope Bringing new light to fulfil my hope Ever conscious of their sacred duty Then sweet, sweetly my blackness blooms And becomes my beauty ...

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