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I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
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—there is leftover gunpowder in this line
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blood to blood to blood, until we are carried
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that they might enter the eternal
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I send you John Coltrane,
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We hunger for eloquence.
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Let us, for tomorrow’s sake,
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In this era of brevity in this era of metal in this
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in summer I step outside
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all the time it travels
