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I will / never know a single thing anyone feels,
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Well I paid fifteen cents
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I’m goin’ down to Tennessee
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I sing the beauty of bodily touch
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about the size of a honeybee. We stared at
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I like my poems. They’re
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Pale moth, that from the moon doth fly,
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the hoop of the world is breaking.
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There is a country to cross you will
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Those you love come at you like lightning,