| I grew pale white lilacs and wild columbine
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| And all of it was mine
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| In old recycling bins I grew watermelon vine
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| And all of it was mine
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| And everything I saw seemed to get so small
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| Like from a speeding car, old familiar barns
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| I made hard wheat bread, and rhubarb berry fool
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| And I gave it all to you
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| I crumpled all my clothes and to the floor I threw them
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| And turned right back to you
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| My rotten softwood fence, my sagging hydro line
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| All of it is mine, all of it is mine
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| The mice come in at night in the muddy streetlight shine
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| See the hulking brown skyline —
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| All of it is mine, all of it is mine
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| And all th while I shrunk I pulled my clothes around
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| Lik my body I could drown
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| I dug up shattered glass and forgotten plastic trucks
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| And coiled faded twine
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| And all of it is mine
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| My buckling plaster walls, cracks snake and wind
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| All of it is mine
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| And everything I knew I seemed to see right through
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| Like cheap cotton skirts like the Madawaska view
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| All these things I knew
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| Muddy white petunias, lobelia trails blue-eyed
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| All of it is mine
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| Irises shot up high and white lilies tumbled shy
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| All of it is mine
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| I dug up all my carrots with their wild orange hue
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| And I gave them all to you
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| And all the words with which I didn’t know what to do
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| Oh I said them all to you |