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Come along in my mackinaw |
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I'll point you where you need to go |
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Though our path may bend and yaw |
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You won't get lost |
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With my pointed prow and square stern |
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We'll use our arms for oars |
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To spoor little schools of fish |
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Make festoon-shaped grooves in the fickle waves |
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'Til the howling wind ushers us to leave |
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Out at sea for days |
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I sleep most afternoons away |
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And you anxiously compass us |
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'Til we see land |
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But the land we knew |
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Was now a new landscape |
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And the howling wind ushered us to leave |
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But you wanted a closer look |
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Then gripped to the rail, how our cheeks turned pale |
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To see the flying machines near clip the houses |
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And throw kisses to the sandbar |
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Little tendrils of smoke trailing out of the exhaust |
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In parabolic wakes, swooping low like gulls |
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Causing the town to tremor and to shake |
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It was clear that city was nothing |
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But an aluminium piece of junk |
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Oh, and the howling wind ushered us to leave |
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But we couldn't move we stood forever changed |
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When something ends, something has to begin |
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When the filaments of fiber |
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From their flares caught afire |
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Your hair looked like spark on a wire |
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I would have paid my last dollar |
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To see you lambent like that |
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Lit by the light of ten thousand shackled suns |
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Being hung on a thin thread |
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Sift amongst the debris for half-hearted dreams |
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Remnants of pocket change |
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Pretty, frilly, thrown-away things |
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Gauze and dust and shards of glass |
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Bricks and bended straws and greyhounds' teeth |
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And the howling wind ushered us to leave |