| A restlessness took hold my brain
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| And questions I could not hold back
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| An orange monkey on a chain
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| On a bleak uneven track
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| Told me that to understand
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| You must travel back in time
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| I took a plane to a foreign land
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| And said, «I'll write down what I find»
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| Beneath a mountain’s jagged shelves
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| Cloaked with snow and shadows sheer
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| Plates tipped up upon themselves
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| The pain of fifty million years
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| And mules and goats were running wild
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| A happy chaos carried on
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| And old men and the young boys smiled
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| And worked until the day was gone
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| The packs of sandy-coloured dogs
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| Walked streets that looked like building sites
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| But piles of rocks and dust and smog
|
| Could not block out a different light
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| When I returned I ran to meet
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| The monkey, but his face had changed
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| He stood before me on two feet
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| The track was now a motorway |