Inspired by Walt Whitman
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A song of myself Sung in a voice long shelved among full stock Yes now covered in dust, surely finer than your’s
Whitman you bastard, WHERE IS THE HEART? To hell with the spiders and to hell with the arts! My filament is gone and I have forgotten my part.
I too, hear America singing Many millions of songs. I hear the song of my teachers All they say is listen.