All our
Days have
Falling, spin

Tatter, ringing
Wooden sheds
Lining up in perfect rows

Our postures bent
Oh, mine and yours

All the
Seasons change
Burning in our cartons
Singing stories in our ears
Pulling, pulling at our wills

When we
Burn our candles down
Gather our, unions songs
Faces white with paper, reed
Loving in our frail tears

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