Down the lane, I breathe out loud in half frozen air.
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And the black amnesias in heaven are lighting a half moon on the stairs.
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And I bite my lip when I breathe out loud.
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Wrapped in Japanese paper all the way around.
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California can't see the sun rise,
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because smoke doesn't climb like it lingers.
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Runs long on a broken lung.
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-----------------
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Between Pacific Coasts
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| The Promise Ring |
