| This place with its old plantations
|
| These roads leading out to the sea
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| This day full of promise and potential
|
| More clay pigeons for you and me
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them all lined up
|
| Huge crows loitering by the curb
|
| Our shared paths unraveling behind us like ribbons
|
| And I dreamed of vultures in the trees around our house
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| And cicadas and locusts and the shrieking of innumerable gibbons
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them all lined up
|
| How long will we ride this way about?
|
| How long 'till someone caves under the pressure?
|
| My dreams are haunted by armies, armies of ghosts
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| Faces too blurry to make out, numbers far too high to measure
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| Your face like a vision straight of Holly Hobby
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| Late light drizzling through your hair
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| Your eyes twin volcanoes
|
| Bad ideas dancing around in there
|
| All, all of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them
|
| All of them, all of them all lined up |