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Where My Sadness Lives

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O'er the copper sierras and the spray-painted skies
there lies a cloud with a door to its side.
When unlacing that door, you must be in the raw
piton in your hand as you plough through the taw;
and there, you will find a grand-father clock
to whom you shall beat 'till it hands you its lock.
Here, stands a man who never forgives
and that, dear is where my sadness lives.



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