America wears a disguise of song,
usually too long,
torn between the loud and the lush,
and always too much.
You sang anguish into a soft spell
all by yourself,
and when I dial you on the telephone
nobody’s home.
usually too long,
torn between the loud and the lush,
and always too much.
You sang anguish into a soft spell
all by yourself,
and when I dial you on the telephone
nobody’s home.
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