when the time has come
to begin as ones son
you fall down bleeding
it's alright ma
i do not cry
nor do i faint
this song we play
this mole we make
this landslide is impeccable
the words of the vernacular
the common man's quarrel
the loop in the hole
the cigarette blows smoke in your own face
fall down gently
for the the's are not as important as the could-have's
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