On the westmost banks of nowhere, come live in Aldergrove. 
Come live where pastel cars 
and pastel homes get buried in the stove. 
In ash fortresses we come to learn the late Earl Grey,
the butcher bill, donning a manleather apron; he applies
the flavored lipstick of the day. 
'Cause man's a zoo, out there where freedom rings,
Bittersweet, when burning hair smells like home,
and each and ...

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