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when faces called flowers float out of the ground
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I can’t reckon, so I shake my head
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it must be a man
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or it rides us
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The only thing I want to say
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There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
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I tried to lengthen the last landscape.
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I think to myself, you never regret a walk,
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Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
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What time is it? Has the boat left?
