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The stories of the street are mine,the Spanish voices laugh.
The Cadillacs go creeping now through the night and the poison gas,
I met a woman long ago
her hair the black that black can go,
Are you a teacher of the heart?
Soft she answered no....
A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes
were smoking out along the open road;
the night was very dark and thick...
When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender,
this I could not do;
I took my gun and vanished.
I finally broke into the prison,
I found my place in the chain.
Even damnation is poisoned with rainbows,
all the...
I came upon a butcher,
he was slaughtering a lamb,
I accused him there
with his tortured lamb.
He said,...
The rain falls down on last year's man,
that's a Jew's harp on the table,
that's a crayon in his hand....
Four o'clock in the afternoon
and I didn't feel like very much.
I said to myself, \"Where are you golden boy,
where...
Field Commander Cohen, he was our most important spy.
Wounded in the line of duty,
parachuting acid into diplomatic cocktail...
I tried to leave you, I don't deny
I closed the book on us, at least a hundred times.
I'd wake up every morning by your side....
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You never liked to get
The letters that I sent.
But now you've got the gist
Of what my letters meant.
You're reading them again,
The ones you didn't burn.
You press them to your lips,
My pages of concern.
I said there'd been a flood.
I said there's nothing left.
I hoped that you would come.
I gave you my address.
Your story was so long,
The plot was so intense,
It took you years to cross
The lines of self-defense.
The wounded forms appear:
The loss, the full extent;
And simple kindness here,
The solitude of strength.
You walk into my room.
You stand there at my desk,
Begin your letter to
The one who's coming next.
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