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than if she had opened her mouth
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you have no destiny, no, you have a
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Say there is money but it rusted;
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And I am shared out. I become these things:
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O my America! my new-found-land,
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So that not only did some kind of shutter flick open
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To live at all is to grieve;
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the soul speaks and the soul receives.
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Clouds slid their shadows
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So that nothing can be said for certain except