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Ways of Life | ||
| The flat white road goes ever on, Past pine and palm until they're gone. It takes us where we want to go, In traffic that is seldom slow. The landscape can become a bore. We're careful lest we start to snore. The roads we cross are mysteries. They disappear behind the trees. Who knows where other highways lead? To travel them we must be freed. The ways of life invite our step, To rest a spell and eat a crepe. | ||
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