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me in soak / with a duck, having mashed potatoes and gravy, while out there
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I wonder if the very small ants are afraid
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— my satsuma-oil sweat and strain dissolving back
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Keep a few trinkets in your wallet to balance out the plastic
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red, red / everything.
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And I realized you are in singing,
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Why write love poetry in a burning world?
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And a purple fog descended upon the land.
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I believe the world is beautiful
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stairway to nowhere—we want
