We were rich as sin Shakespearean fools So we bought ourselves An enchanted prairie >Lie in that prairie Just in the center of that prairie (Where bottle gentian Throws a punch like a priest) It will tell you The exact truth
The chickens believe They have found the home of the Common ancestor In vain hope Of dissuasion I hang a red cloth In the lightning tree
Dirt whines and licks at my hands This load of smoked moonlight I will carry in shifts
Not to you For you Not that you have inherited grace But that it arrived And was stubborn
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