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On a mountain topin Samoa where the old cannonsits shooting star after shooting star falling into the distant ocean horizonI was 11 grandma was dyi..
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you and me were in the truckflying down an old dustyroad after some fishingthe sky was peachand you sharedyour concerns with my drinkingi didn’t..
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I wrote those poems on impulsewalking around the trees in Walnut Creeklost in a wonderland of mindI found comfort in God.I burned all the wobbly words..
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I listen to the same playlist I did ten years agosome songs have come and gone some may have been addedjust like the people. I have my twisted tea in ..
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