| Ten coaches roll into the dust, chrome windows turned to rust.
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| Hang on inside, they know they must, hanging on the green-backed words
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| «In God We Trust.»
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| No one knows if the spirit died, all wrapped to go like Kentucky Fried,
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| Trying to read the flight of birds, low on fuel, getting low on words.
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| And she comes out like a white shadow,
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| She comes out like a white shadow.
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| Each one drawn to empty spaces, outsiders, borderline cases.
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| It’s hard to tell black from white when you wake up in the middle of the
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| night.
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| Weighted down by the absence of sound, broken now by the cry of a hound,
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| Looking for movement within the haze, light can be deceptive with her rays.
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| And she comes out like a white shadow,
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| And she comes out like a white shadow,
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| She comes out like a white shadow. |