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That sun is white, and that road long Just can't remember where I came from. All I know, is where I'll go- Goin' down that road gonna take it slow. That moon is high, on top the hill Just beyond that cotton mill. But there's no room for Jack or Jill, Cause I think I might be getting ill. That mountain's risin' right at me I count clouds rollin', one two three I should have never left Tennessee On my way to beat the bourgeoisie. That grass so green, a chromic sheen That dew flows down, a foam so clean I don't want to see that factory steam Let us cultivate that Carsonic dream. |