Morning has broke
The mayflowered breeze of that dawn
Not so early and what light?
Nothern?
Slaves running...
Dreaming.
Falling Rocks. Not on me.
I ain't
Man or a woman until the roads are traversable
and whose gonna bury the dead?
Don't matter no more!
Quilts with birds or any the like
Ain't gonna save the ship.
No pretending
When the saints roll in all our waters gonna be troubled.
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