Wednesday, July 11, 2007
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It Who no longer can listen It Saw a gusty wind Come up to listen Before I was ten and all of the evil grids From a hill where rats consider And they gang And they topple And they send a smoke ring Into the onion field A ghost! And this can make you choke Coming from the throat Of a ghost! And sent to my weak knees From a voice plantation All in together In terror
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