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IT SEEMS THE WAY END
Buzz, buzz like peasant wizard growl
The road seems end and the hawk feasts
There may be something hoofen around the flute
As though the wicked earth had deeped down
theres no read in a broad widen way
Only there a morsel of trodden tide
Apronized to the helpless mind
there also no man mean anything
Except one with amputated neck
filling around with sandy blood
the earth aches as the head wedges
