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How you always talk of catching me, but never open up your hands.
I’m not listening for the right words anymore.
..like the blue sky, right before the rain comes crashing through…
I started listening to the wolves and the timber, wolves and the timber at night…
I wake in the field with the cold and the lonesome—the moon’s the only face I see
So long, so high….
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Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map
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