Under a loop of stars in the vulgar cold
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The dead airport lay
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By the pebbles of the highway
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Through the snail clouds
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You soared to your lover
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I hurried away my darling
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With a howl in my throat.
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Hiding inside the weeds
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In the orange grove,
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The black rooster crowed
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Through the hollow of the midnight.
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With my shot blood,
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With stains on my fingers,
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I run with the damned, my darling:
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They have taught me to laugh.
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-----------------
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Monterey
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Tim Buckley |