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you’d better get rid of it fast; the last
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Love will never let us alone, which is
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No song is complete without
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it wanted them looking at it and saying this, how the color
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I have known what it was, this thing, known
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I am Federico García Lorca
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beware of dryness of heart love the morning spring
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outside a ring of concertina wire / circles around a small collapse.
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And the crickets,
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Perhaps this thing I am calling kindness