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I listened to your taped |
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epistle to Rachel |
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stamped and dated, |
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Now I know you were really alive |
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in nineteen seventy one. |
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(fall saddles) |
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You carried God |
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like a bouquet of balloons, |
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Yoshua whispered in your ear |
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your next move... |
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"Go on, get on that train." |
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In your clay faced youth |
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the rubber upper lip |
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sounds out |
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a bold pen sketch. |
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Were you talking about |
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your dad when you said, |
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"Your fisted language still affects my style. |
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Although I sometimes catch your |
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visions like a child." |
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Do you still pray about me |
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in your quiet time, |
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Cast out soft-core demons |
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when I come back home, |
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Let some Nashville fake |
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record your demo tapes? |
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When I'm waiting at a train |
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station or a bus stop. |
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I also play "led by the lord day" |
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in my own way. |