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by
Bill Callahan
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I can’t see myself in the books I read these days Used to be I saw myself on every single page As nice to know a life had been lived before But I can’t see myself in the books that I read anymore Tired eyes wander Into their own sight Leaving a body, arms gripped And forced to improvised By being so much as I was I was getting so far away From anything that I had ever known And everyone and night had fallen I could no longer find my way, Lord And the moon came up high And I said take me home To anyone as bright as day But the fact of the sun comes The fiction of the moon The moon can make a false love feel true It can make me still wanting you Oh, the moon I watched that old girl leave her stable tonight And neither she nor I could look away As she drew a map for me on the back of the masterplan And you know I had to laugh And I wished that I was like that moon on her path Or that train on her track ‘Cause when I looked out back The road was pulling out so soft, fast and black You know it takes what it gives back And I’ve got your book in my lap
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