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a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
risen from the dead
the old west, the old time
have you not heard
lo! 'tis a gala night
up and down he goes
wheel me down by the meadow
i loathed you
just as my fingers on these keys
melancholy days have come
and with the humming bird
like eagles on up high
skies they were ashen and sober
if i should die, think only this of me

 



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