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Weston Bookhouse
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Under the Hill
Had it planned right down to a T Labor until I have Stacked up the means to lap the globe And so on
Now I work late on Saturdays And that's what makes me sad today I miss the music we did play Nothing needing sense those days
My ghosts just grew so bored Now they're back for more Along with Sequoias I miss the fog cooking off
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com At around 11, there being no end in The means to which we took the bus up just The promise of descending
And every time I'd go outside in that town I'd get so fucking high I'm jealous of Cayugas Palm trees For still bending in the sky
It makes me howl
Oh.
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