| Is your jewellery still lost in the sand
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| Out on the coast, or rushed into the brine?
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| You left your rings on the shoreline
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| So you wouldn’t lose them swimming in the shallows
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| A plastic shovel, soft sweaty children far from home
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| On vacation not unlike your very own
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| And the Captain Howdy lit upon my shoulder
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| And he left me with sulphur and rooms full of headaches
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| I fell in with snakes in the poisoned ranks of strangers
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| Please send me more yellow birds for the dim interior
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| Will my pony recognize my voice in hell?
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| Will he still be blind, or do they go by smell?
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| Will you promise not to rest me out at sea
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| But on a fiery river boat that’s rickety?
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| I’ll never find my pony along the rolling swell
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| A muddy river or a lake would do me well
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| With hints of amber sundowns and moody thunderstorms
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| A sunken barge’s horns, with the cold rusty bells |