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And when the flying is flown and the heart’s
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a fixed point I couldn’t seem to advance on,
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Such treasure in the air,
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this is pigment from a bug, this is pigment
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In what distant deeps or skies
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Why I’m going to the Taklamakan Desert:
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forty years later and we still want justice. We are still America. We
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a loud clash and an extra wagon, a sign of extra, a sac a small sac
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The circle’s association: There’s a center
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I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain