| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Underneath the mead moon
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| Right Man breathing from a rubber balloon
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| Middle Man quietly thinks a tune
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| Wandering by, three mangy lap dogs
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Waiting for the maglev train
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| Crystal night, not a spot of rain
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| Sparks inside of Left Man’s brain
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| Right Man biting his lip, agog
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Each, each other’s companion boon
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| To Middle, the stars around him cocoon
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| Last train to transfer stop arriving soon
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| Headed north out of the old peat bog
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| You could catch the wind coming off the plain
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| Left tries his Zippo’s flint again
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| Right stroking idols of Saints Marcel and Anne
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| Far away from the city smog
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| All for one and one for ruin
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| Reactive Middle suckles thumb wound
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| Left Man’s coat a sort-of pale maroon
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| Salesmen for the demagogue
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log
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| Right, Middle, Left all gaunt as tain
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| Growing behind, a patch of wolf’s bane
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| Waiting as long as they can sustain
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| Anticipating a stern slog
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| Three men sitting on a hollow log |