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211 1979 When Will They Find Me Out? I don’t belong here, in this town, in this job. I wonder when they will find me out. I wonder when they will know that I know nothing, can do nothing. I wonder when they will know that all I am is a reflection on the surface of a fragile glass jar, a distorted image looking back at things that have passed me by. I wonder when they will know that I am hollow. I always run hard, trying to keep one step ahead of that inevitable time when they will find me out, discover I am nothing but a hillbilly kid from Black Hawk Ridge, West Virginia. Just a kid who never really made it out of the hills, the hollers. A part of me is there still, sitting on the ridge, looking down at the cars that mutter along the narrow, pitted highway. Maybe there is a Black Hawk Ridge for most of us, some place back there that has us by the throat. Lee Maynard 212 I wonder if Black Hawk Ridge will ever let me go, and then I look in the mirror and know that it makes no difference anymore. It is far, far too late. I wonder when they will find me out. ...

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