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[46] I L O S E M Y WAY TO YO U R H O U S E Nothing is ever lost, there are no mistakes I keep telling myself out loud, taking another wrong turn, and I am sweating as if late for a curfew, palms wet on the wheel, feeling small as a candle in a blackout drawing fire from Allied bombers over Dresden, praying for the light to change, knowing there will be no pianos in your voice, just a horse of a different color. ...

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