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Been lurking around corners too long,

Whistling between the shadows of a doldrum,

There’s a place in space for the crows and the corn,

But I yearn for more than squalor and a squaw.

We’re hungry for the yield so we yield,

A week will pass before we heal,

So I sit tight, indoors, wanting more,

But without a harvest there ain’t no chaw.

You craved a house on a hill with a meadow,

Your time was short and borrowed,

You said the scythe was our birthright,

Taught me to crave the good life.

So I force myself to visit the graveyard,

Guess it’ll forever remain on my radar,

And talk to myself when I’m alone,

Maybe go through your old photos.

Been painting my own pictures to save,

Cutting my own hair, these are dark days,

Any day now I’ll have my way,

Any day now my dues will be paid.

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