| Settling down with warm-glow woodstove and kerosene
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| peace you’re looking for, peace you’ll find
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| in the tangled mad cliff-sides and crashing dark of big sur
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| Rapturous ring of silence pacific fury flashing on the rocks, the sea shroud
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| towers
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| the innocence of health and stillness in the wild of big sur
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| This whole surface of the world as we know it now
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| will be covered with the silt of a billion years in time
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| And I see as much as doors will allow
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| A long way from the Beat generation
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| Here comes the nightly moth who is nightly dead in Big Sur
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| Best thing to do is not be false the rocks of the valley have no howl of
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| complaint
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| And I’m just a sick clown and so is everybody else in Big Sur |