| To the coyote lying dead on the side of the highway:
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| I’ve been through your land countless times
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| Without asking your leave
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| But now it seems that I am free to go on my way
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| While you would left there broken
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| With only burning father sun
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| To grieve and bleach your bones
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| As white as the moon
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| As white as the yellow moon
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| To the vulture flying low along the line of the highway:
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| You won’t have to wait very long
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| To eat your fill
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| 'Cause the river of grey that divides the horizon
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| Will surely leave a carcass in its wake
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| A twisted golden braid of fur and meat
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| Turning black
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| Black as the road
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| As black as the grey road
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| And the grey road is the great worm
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| That meets itself on the far side of the world
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| And the grey road is the great worm
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| That eats its tail beneath our feet
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| To the man selling blankets on the side of the highway:
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| The sign says you’re friendly and nice
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| And I have no doubt that’s true
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| But one of these mornings you gonna rise up singing
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| A song that your grandfather knew
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| But your father forgot
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| And buried
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| And was paved over by the grey road
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| The same road that you walk now
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| As nice as a man
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| As nice as the last man
|
| And the grey road is the great worm
|
| That meets itself on the far side of the world
|
| And the grey road is the great worm
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| That eats its tail beneath our feet |