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What you do hurts me Like squeezing lemon juice into paper cuts Or being chinned with a rifle butt I wouldn't know how that feels but it looks like it hurts
These we find in earth among the roots, Whilst digging beds Or mowing the tall grass Which you once cut Or reclaim rusted beneath cracked pots. They keep on coming, rising, almost growing
A soldier boy from Jesmond Down south in billets on White Lane Spied a girl beneath the streetlamp "Who goes there?" Her name was Madelene It was the utmost for the highest
Leaves two seasons onward; Wet-wood gone, would get us going. Snow will bless a blowing past, That glances to and froing. Leaves two seasons onward; Cradled babe, did set us sowing
Well Raegan the cowboy Couldn’t do no wrong... Rode on into Washington Singing his deregulation song Hard Times, Hard Times… While the people watching movies