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Cast out of time, forgotten paradiseOf a thousand small villages, under clouds, gray and grayWith dark green hills, fading into the skySometimes beautifully painted, with a white pigeon raceAnd nowhere does the rain fall so softly and rustlingAnd nowhere does the wind blow so lovingly, so softlyHe gets the free space, because like an open handGently undulating like water, Flanders is my country