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Everything looks brown But the moon is gold I wonder if she can hear the Earth sobbing The harvest gains less several single year Farmers blame the city I blame the city too I also blame the farmers
Still in the field. Bouncing up and down. Looking back to the left and right. Darn! Twine broke again, get the gear.
It sits in hard, smooth splendor   There was a face here   Once       The wisdom of years and years   Shriveled down to a compact plastic  
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