| I would describe myself as the landscape I buried
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| My mother’s face, as she carried me
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| How her water raged and emptied
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| Dry your eyes, those tears are all you’re given
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| It’s no surprise now, your heaven’s what you’re living in
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| I would describe myself as the colourfield I married
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| My New York pages, how they prepared
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| My sheets and the dirges caged and cared for me
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| Dry your eyes, those tears are all you’re given
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| It’s no surprise now, your heaven’s what you’re living in
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| «whenever auntie moves around her dress makes a curious sound they trail
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| behindher up the floor and trundle after through the door.» |
| (auntie's skirts-R.
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| L.Stevenson)
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| Dry your eyes, those tears are all you’re given
|
| It’s no surprise now, your heaven’s what you’re living in
|
| Dry your eyes, those tears are all you’re given
|
| It’s no surprise now, your heaven’s what you’re living in |