| When the mist rolls in on Highway One
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| Like a curtain to the day
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| A thousand silhouettes hold out their thumbs
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| And I see them and I say
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| You are my children
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| My sweet children
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| I am your poet
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| With hair just like the burning tree of Moses
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| The girl beside you is your twin
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| Behind your fiery make-up you should know this
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| I am your sister, I am your kin, your flesh and kin
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| I’ll write this tune
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| In matching phrases
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| Just to show it
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| You are the orphans in an age
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| Of no tomorrows
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| And with your walking you wage a war
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| Against the sorrows
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| Your fathers left you
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| A row to hoe
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| And you’ll hoe it
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| If I could write you easy directions
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| On a list
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| You would not read it, you could not see it
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| For the mist
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| Besides my pen is
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| Very righteous
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| And I know it
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| So walk to the edges of a dying kingdom
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| There’s one more summer just around the bend
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| The amber in your smile is brave and winsome
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| For though your highway has no end, it never ends
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| There is still the sky
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| The windy cliff
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| And the sea below it
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| I’d take an angel’s ram horn trumpet
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| And I’d blow it
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| I’d blow it |