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My hands are dry now, my fingers getting clean
Red tape and picket signs are propped against the war machine
All right and wrong, falling to repose
Sparrow songs and mocking birds have wandered where the willows grow

And the summer makes us happy
When ambition's gone away
And each feeling makes us richer
Everyday

When the sun sends the last of its light
We'll fall to the ground and feel glad




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