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    The countryside is being eaten by the very structure that we lean on
    Love letters for bonfires and campfire songs for city children
    Nowhere to run
    Distance ourselves by the balanced crops of thought
    Till the field
    No where to run
    You were never there
    The oceanside is being torn down
    By the countless drops of blackness feeding filtration
    For the domestication of diseases
    You'll lose your balance on this rope
    Broncos with cavalry bringing me home

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