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How heel over head was I hurled down
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Proust’s Law (are you listening?) is twofold:
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I’ve discovered that I don’t need
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It’s evening, and I number how many
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for once not a melancholy color
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I’ve gone all over the globe
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There are
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that song that’s our birthright,
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Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, roiled and
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a syllable: male, it says perhaps,
