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Remember the moon, know who she is.
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Dreamt I wrote E-L-V-I-S, held it to the mirror and it read
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And what they say / blends in the tarantellasmic sway
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to the town of small towers
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But why the last? I ask. Why not
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let the cows wander
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I will enjoy this life. I will open it
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I am more beautiful and less rigid,
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Sky full of fire, pain pourin’ down
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Praise all music. Praise the harp.
