| I am rarely on earth
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| You have my other address:
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| There is a small cell on the map
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| All in blue - in the colors of the seas.
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| There the winds are catching up,
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| There, ships work in a storm,
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| Thundering outskirts of the earth -
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| Salted water.
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| Under the northernmost star
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| And without the moon, and with the moon,
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| Here trawls go under water,
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| Opening its mouth in depth.
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| And long fish don't know
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| What trouble is moving
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| Thundering outskirts of the earth -
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| Salted water.
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| From the sides, cut by the winds,
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| We seem to be doubly vigilant,
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| Here are pictures of the girls
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| Storms are rolling on the wall.
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| Dream of a forest woman
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| Come here through the clouds
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| Thundering outskirts of the earth -
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| Salted water.
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| We are like plowmen on the field,
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| And trawls are related to plows,
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| But only the pole breathes snow,
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| Chasing storms to the shores.
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| Now eternal day, then night without end -
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| Witness of our work
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| Thundering outskirts of the earth -
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| Salted water.
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| And even there, in the warm south,
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| Where like created heaven on earth,
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| My feluccas are rocking my dreams,
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| Rocking the bunk underneath me
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| What beauty is painted to me?
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| I can see my homies
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| Thundering outskirts of the earth -
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| Salted water. |