| Before the Red Sea flood beneath a cornhusk dawn
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| We bid the Elkhorn run to a locomotive psalm
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| Until the pale horse comes along a rail withdrawn
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| Clanging loudward on, clanging loudward on
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| We bid the Elkhorn run until the red cow comes
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| I was a steadfast son, with thoughts and hooves divided
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| And on the arid ground of thirsty Zion’s hill
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| Cold waters tumbled down where the staff of Moses fell
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| What Pharaoh spell, what picture holds us now?
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| Behold the snake of brass, the wind was blowing backwards
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| Behold a golden calf, blighted leaves of Law
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| O for the land we knew before the frogs withdrew
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| In the fragrant pomegranate blooms where the tender locust flew
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| Behind the milk-white tombs, behind the milk-tank cars
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| We passed the North Platte yard on silver tracks unguarded
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| Out past the sambar herds, out to the outcast birds
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| In the rust of open wagons, Lo! |
| the Blessed Virgin’s likeness
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| We watched the green figs fall from the Nebraska sky
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| How much were even passive things responsive to our watchful eye!
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| And let there be no doubt: so many figs and pictures hold us
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| In the wells of livestock vans with shells and garden sands
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| Iron mixed with oxygen as per the laws of chemistry and chance
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| A shape was roughly human, it was only roughly human
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| Apparition eyes apparition eyes Knock Apparition Knock eyes apparition eyes
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| Was he a violent man? |
| Well, he had his genocidal moments…
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| Or penned by fiction’s hand? |
| To whom could that phrase not apply?
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| How much are even lifeless sounds responsive to our listening ear!
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| What Pharoah now, what Paroah now, or Jew or picture holds us here? |