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Description: | De Pere, Wis. The sound has never left the harp The song will never leave the well |
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Description: | You who were spared I talked with night but last about the velvet years I remember from the window The one that is blown is the one gone wild |
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Description: | That instinct path to the waiting door is a mile of running beyond the last ounce of bursting heart |
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Description: | A house laced straight into the wiry sore of righteousness, squared off and lonely, tingling at the sound of ice, the libertine who drowned. |
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