Tank of sad.

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Kindness a fuel, and love hides your doubt.
But what are you to do, when the gas tank runs out.

The plane cannot fly, but instead mearly falls.
The people won't live. Their engines have stalled.

Gentle is the way the river flows,
Calm is the rhythm as the cool breeze blows.

Fly high, little bird. Be free. Soar strong.
Hold on, to the fuel. And sing freely your songs.

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