| Bridges and rivers and buildings pulled down
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| Time spent in places my footsteps had found
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| Mirrors in ballrooms lie smashed on the ground
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| Walking with November mists
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| Pathways and windows and movies in May
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| Quiet old ladies who’ll soon pass away
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| Paintings and songs that I’d done in a day
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| Going 'round in my head
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| Fires on spires and chimneys of black
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| Fields on horizons with pylons that crack
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| With singing sad wires for council house mystics
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| To apply their statistics
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| And read the tea leaves
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| Time knows no limits for days such as these |