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Seeds came in the mail today from Holland |
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And the language on the package was wonderful and strange |
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All sorts of flowers that grow up from the earth |
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In goodly colors, gloriously arranged |
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I circled the house and I scattered them around |
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Let the water sink down into the soil |
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Stared a long time at the residue |
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Blood, milk, and oil |
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God, the humidity is something |
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Our shirts are soaked clean through |
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The house is throbbing and the heat keeps coming |
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And I keep looking at you |
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And then you're singing in Dutch to me |
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And I recognize the song |
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It seems so old and so fragile |
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I haven't heard it in so long |
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We may throw the windows open later |
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But we are not as far west as we suppose we are |
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Hot wind coming off the water |
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The sky gone crazy with stars |
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While we stay here, we imagine we're alive |
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We see shadows on the walls |
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There's something waiting for us in the hot, wet air |
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Sweat, water, and alcohol |
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Just the old blood |
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Rising up through the wooden floor again |
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Just the old love |
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Asking for more again |