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The Clientele
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I Had to Say This
Nightingales all summer long
Beside me in my mind
One and one is nine, the moon
The June, moths, and the quiet
I have never really been here
If I am alive
Am I just a photograph
Inside a printed night?
How much further can we drive?
And how much can I take?
Am I just a monograph
Inside a printed shape?
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