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why don't you put a book upon our heads

and put some pistols in our hands

count twenty paces at dawn

count twenty questions we'll get wrong


come out of things unsaid

shoot an apple off my head

and a trouble that can't be named

a tiger's waiting to be tamed


i'm singing


past and present they don’t matter

once the future’s sorted out

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wabbit season
jones_casey
cleaning up so well

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