| This collection of sketches, rough and scattered, is arranged by instinct.
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| There’s entropy at work, but mostly it happened by accident
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| Sure a story goes with this, but for it to make sense you’d have to be me,
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| And for it to make dollars I would have to be something I despise,
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| Don’t ask me how I managed, no one gets paid to make change,
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| Every morning I salute the flag, turn, grab the fingers of my left hand behind
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| my back and continue my search.
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| I’m wondering how I got here,
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| Who besides me is responsible?
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| I’m not the young man I was when I first wrote the code,
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| Now I dont have it in me to fuss over much.
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| I need sleep… more than ever before.
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| What remains of my violence is so precious that I keep it all of it to myself.
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| What frightens me most now is my gradual loss of hearing.
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| So i’m guided more and more by vibes.
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| I shield my eyes from flickering images and document my dreams with as much
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| detail as possible.
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| I figure I’ll write my book when its all I can do, but I don’t know.
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| Have you any idea how hot these sands are?
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| Ya, i come in contact with the odd scavenger here and there, but those
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| encounters rarely amount to much
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| I just gaze the same few black and white photographs:
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| Distant loves, long lost souls. |
| diamonds of my most glorious moments,
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| I remember the gold rush
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| Ya, she makes me laugh now to think of the risks I took
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| The monuments will remain, and thats all that matters but the question always
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| becomes:
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| 'Am I happy?'
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| When young, we mourn for one woman,
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| When we grow old, for woman in general,
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| The tradgey in life is man is never free,
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| Yet strives for what can never be,
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| The thing most feared in secret, always happens: my life, my love,
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| where are they now?
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| But the more the pain grows, the more this instinct for life somehow asserts
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| itself,
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| The necessary beauty in life is giving yourself to it completely.
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| Only later will it clarify itself as not coherant
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| I wandered the fields and listen for the sound of drums
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| The colder the ground becomes the closer I get I home
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| The planets not fit to roam but with all the chaos
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| But, when I saw the savages I played the law of averages
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| And when the river splits in half, I start to lose my wits and laugh
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| And cry at the same time, there’s nothing I can do about it
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| Even though I wouldn’t doubt it, if the winds began to blow
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| And carry the sounds of my voice to the lands below
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| So I put my hands around my mouth and hollered to the sunken city
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| That, wallows in the filth of its own drunken pity
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| And wait to see a signal but a signal is never seen
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| Eventually fatigue builds inside me exponentially and so I sleep
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| And dream that I’m able to fly
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| «They will respect a man with wings!»
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| Later I awake, in agony and learn
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| That while I was sleeping the city had burned
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| Shrugging my shoulders, I paused and gathered thoughts
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| Think twice about staying put, then decide I rather not
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| So I press on in my agnostic pilgrimage
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| Knowing that I can swim deeper than the grim reaper
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| Ready for whatever sea creatures may abound
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| When the water swallows me and not the other way around
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| Survival saw me through the mechanical district
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| Starvation leads to being cannibalistic
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| I have to rely on cons and silence and non talking quick
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| Defending myself with nothing but this walking stick
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| I’ve never had friends and no parental guidance
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| I’m wild at heart and weird on top, I’m feared nonstop
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| Even though my rage is worn out
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| My life’s a book with several pages torn out.
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| I just climb trees and look for rhythm everywhere.
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| I used to be the town crier in a city of stone throwers
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| Until my soul was laid bare and displayed in the pearled square
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| Ignored, more than a lot, not less, no one understood my thought, process
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| I was gagged and bound over noise complaints
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| But, commanding the resolve that destroys constraints
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| I found my escape in a melding of memories
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| The next thing I know, I’m rowing this boat
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| And blowing this note on an old tarnished trumpet
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| (Pause for trumpet sample)
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| Ever since then I’ve been wondering lots
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| Watching the sky and pondering thoughts
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| Strange angel, music box genie
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| Behind for some time and now I’m blind in one eye
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| And how this happened exactly will never be known
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| My thoughts take the shape of the hang-man's house
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| Never fails in time-traveling salesman visiting |