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Going To Bangkor

The Mountain Goats


the ocean wind cold on our lips,
the wild fern growing, sinking ships,
all the signs are easy to read.

in the morning you come my way,
your skin is pink, the sky is gray,
there's resh cranberries in you mouth
with thick red water dripping out.
you expect me to beleive everything you say, well o.k.

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