| For the rest of our lives we’ll be swaying
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| As laces and dirtied old soles.
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| From the branches young age’s engagements
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| Have flocked with the sparrows and gulls
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| To O, Astoria.
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| ‘Neath the rails of old engines' abandon
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| ‘Tween cracks in the gravel and moss
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| Where the flickers of memories we flattened
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| In the copper of pennies are lost
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| In the shade of our glory
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| At the hill where the old chapel stands
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| There is held our beliefs where we left them
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| In the skin of the tall pines, the rocks, and the sands
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| Of O, Astoria!
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| There we on the water took count
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| Of the moons that have orbited us and gave weight
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| To our arms that could open but slight
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| Though our words would change even gravity’s might.
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| With the dust and the ash of our fathers passed
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| Tucked neatly in our blood
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| O, what length we’ve waited for this place to seek us out!
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| O, Astoria.
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| In the shade of our glory
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| At the end of Columbia’s breath
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| Did we know our beliefs when we forged them
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| In the skin of the tall pines the rocks and the sands?
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| Of O, Astoria! |