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Let us be unashamed of soul,
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that runs along the lines, bright
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and when the sun is out, we disappear.
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pestling the unalterable
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ghosts leave: retinal
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So often I would itch
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while the world tilts
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Here is a map of our country:
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Which of you knows how not to part the pebble on the beach from its colors?
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come and go while I stay gripped to pine and the sugar of existence runs through