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High water carried her down stream |
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She watched the water's living things |
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She thought, it's not a mound with six planks of wood |
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The cardinal points to hold you up |
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Or a mountain where a shed self could |
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Feed the roots and honor the tongues of the animals |
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Drift into the moss and bloat where the peat bog pulls |
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Rolled like a felled tree |
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With arms as useless as such |
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Death's panic came, a calmness stayed, you couldn't do much |
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Just watch the water chip away at the bank eroding |
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Cut and crumbling through the spate |
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It took a father, it covered a daughter |
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Took her down, down, down |
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With the glass bottles, books, a tire |
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Collected hair tufts in the weeds |
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Snagged and wrapped in the peats |
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Dammed and trapped |
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You said, is this the ceremony? |
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I don't know, well I don't mind |
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The way we all fall in and roll down |
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Pushed through the veins and trafficked byes |
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And when your ears sit under |
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Head is half submerged down below |
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Pooling all accounts of peace while passed beneath the canopy glow |