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The dust and the mess of our mornings,

Promise that we'll never quit

So drunk, though our hands surely woven

Entire fleets of staggering ships...

Now our ships line the floors of the ocean,

And the oceans breach on the ridge,

And the terrified dreams of our wanderings

That once lit our way are now hid...

 

a silver mt zion

 

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Taken on March 3, 2011