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Time to fold your ragged claws Cindered charchoal were the brushfire was Naked roots where wind has blown Trails of blood on wood and stone I am still not old I'm younger than the booze I'm drinking Still, there's something old in me Still I find myself sinking Will you follow me, my dear Through the fields, to the county fair Where land and ocean meet We could go there on our naked feet From Letras Mania