| Humid wood, you felt good
|
| And you shook your tangled hair down
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| With the sweat in your eyes
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| And all the black flies
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| Under lidded skies
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| You lie down there in the grasses
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| On the clifftop you remember
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| Salt stinging in your lashes
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| Straight line of horizon
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| And the ocean painful wide
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| Every time you come back here
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| You feel nothing, and then you
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| Cry out all the strangeness
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| You have carried all year
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| Every crooked word spoken
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| Still ringing in your ears
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| Like the whine of mosquitoes
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| Oh, who are you alone?
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| With your cheek against the stone
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| What do you think you know?
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| Under lidded skies
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| Under the rising clouds of black flies
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| Under tangled branches way up
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| High glinting in the last light
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| You left, you got into the car
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| Sink down into the fabric
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| And you close the heavy metal door
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| With your hands upon the plastic
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| And drive on into the cold
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| So calm, like it don’t matter
|
| Like slipping into a pond
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| All the little waves roll and scatter |