| Dollar boy and biscuit girl
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| mix worlds. |
| I’m included,
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| I’m honoured. |
| Where’s the premise?
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| that birds fly home
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| and death’s roost is right here.
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| We make a trinity and jump.
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| Right, that’s our pyramid, there, fixed.
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| Then I met Scully and the Green man
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| with his six children,
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| one for each eight weeks.
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| We dring healths and star the hunt up
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| amid the usual ceremonies.
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| You can see us there, jumping
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| One day I was foxed and caught,
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| became a plough.
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| Driven to work, I shaped
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| the fields to say land.
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| Do crops grew but the marks are there,
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| to your right hand and very bright
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| Driven at last across
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| the whole country, I was a trace
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| of lines, past mines and villages,
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| I was a map of the new.
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| Some of us are routes,
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| some destinations, some turned to
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| self-defeating circles,
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| but I’m a new constellation to learn.
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| There’s something in the way of that star,
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| The light doesn’t get here.
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| We was
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| kick step tailed and sierra balled
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| that high!
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| was never worn down
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| or worn out — here’s why
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| was up all day night
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| weekend trip union
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| was gloved honey
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| was I
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| were you?
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| Bomb goddess mulch kitten
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| & letter child
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| was never stood up
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| or stood down
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| that wild!
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| was always out gone
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| far around and there
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| was quick honey
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| was I
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| were you?
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| was emptied and destined
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| sent cared and determined
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| was never put down
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| or put out
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| that early!
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| was kept sealed |