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    The wires were wrapped
    Around the tips of his fingers
    But the pencil was working like brand new
    And the storm was thickening
    but his eyes were still glittering
    and the aftermath he saw was you

    Come on he said, take one of my pictures
    You're from the West,
    You can take me home
    To your land of milk
    And of honey
    You can take me home.

    And you were sitting right there
    At the edge of a forest fire
    Feverish golden hands
    Touching tiny copper coins
    And one by one as they passed by
    You heard a whisper that sounded like a cry


    The memory is already five days old
    You've got the picture
    Held tight in a book
    And you've got every intention
    As to taking it home
    You've got every intention,
    Every intention

    But nobody's listening at the corner store
    And nobody's listening at the curb
    You've got a firefighter
    Drawing pictures of flamingos
    Hoping they'll land somewhere else
    On this earth


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