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Hawksley Workman lyrics : "Alone here (Ballad of bunches of things)"

All the trees are hers
And the bees
And the furs

Not exactly hymns
But hers.


All the skies are fine
And the beasts
With spurs

Not exactly wings
Flutters


And the nights with stars
And the cold
Shudders

Precise and orderly
Clutters


After quite some time
Who'll be who
We were

I will certainly
Trust her


When the time comes to die
When the time comes to die


We'll steal the truth in it/We'll be
The truth in it/We'll see the truth
In it/Who won't believe the truth

In it?

All the trees are hers

Tall and green
And worst
To pollinate the

Cup butter

Even apple trees

With reluctant
Worms
Can satisfy her needs

For sure

And the rhubarb burst

Through the dark rich
Earth
Makes the sweetest intermittent

Purr.

And what is fallow now

Will come to
Deserve
Poetry's most lovely

Words

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