| Making your way through an orangepeel orchard
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| Tracing your day from disillusioned to debauched
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| And Spring passed quickly below the rotten elm tree
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| You weren’t kissed there you were pissed in the lavatory
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| And shaving is something that you grew out of
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| And it would take a heat wave to get you to take your jacket off
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| You hang around the square watching someone kick the boys in
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| With a hand through your hair as if to comb out the poison
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| Sing some stupid song about crows in the wheatfield
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| It’s been so long since you saw crows in the wheatfield
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| And don’t forget that day you remembered
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| When you saw fish swim in the sewage system river
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| And keep revising that picture in your mind
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| When you left home and the crow’s behind
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| And the Apples were sweet and summers were long
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| Digging in your bare feet on a short yellow lawn
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| You used to stifle a smile or forget not to yawn
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| Do all the things that men do when they’re To the River Born
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| With fifty-five pense between his two fingers
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| And a swirling head as the feeling of hunger lingers
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| Sing some stupid songs about crows in the wheatfield
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| It’s been so long since you saw crows in the wheatfield
|
| Sing some stupid song about crows in the wheatfield
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| You knew all along you were a crow in the wheatfield |