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An emperor is shown against a background of treasure,
holding a nightingale on one hand and a jeweled mechanical bird
on the other. A tear drops from his eye as he listens to
the natural birdsong, which all his wealth could not buy.
No amount of worldly success can replace the soul
connection to the natural world... for the bird sings
not by command, but from its own joy in singing.
The emperor's mistake was in trying to capture and own
the ethereal bliss he felt at hearing the bird's music.
Release, release, sings the nightingale,
and my joy will be yours...
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