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There's a gulf at the edge of the yard And the husk of a shed and a garden It's the virus that swells in the grass It's the ration that stays with the water There's a boy with his back to the porch There's a root in a jar on the floor It's the field that is tied to his ankle It's the fodder that sticks to the table There's the ghost of a beast in the woods And the trace of a shell in the dirt It's the path to the place where he lay It's the look of a crow on the grave From Letras Mania