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Faith, that unholy of trinities would Hold well in the bowels of some,
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You shared
one moment - wasted in dire midnight
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IT WAS HARD
CLAIMING THAT VAIN
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You know that when you are dead
Your heart will still beat
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Finally, just as Thursday turned to dust
and the picket fence sun had been whitewashed away,
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There was a cream in the sigh, frozen and dribbling and
half way down your breasts in front of the open fire
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That shake, shivers in the stone
the drop-stars, the calling,
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At the falling of every stone,
In the traveller finding home,
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There is no longer a way
no roads, no lanes filled
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Free the Eagles fly,
Over the Lassen foothill,
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ISHI. THE YAHI MAN.
They came from the east, like a storm,
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