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February always finds you folding |
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Local papers open to the faces |
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Passed away to wonder what they're holding |
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In those hands we're never shown the places |
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Formal photographs refuse to mention |
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His tiny feet, that birthmark on her knee |
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The tyranny of framing our attention |
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With all the eyes their eyes no longer see |
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And darkness comes too early you won't find |
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The many things you owe these latest dead |
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A borrowed book, that check you didn't sign |
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The tools to be believed with be beloved |
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Give what you can to keep to comfort this |
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Plain fear you can't extinguish or dismiss |