The Mountain Goats


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Wild donkeys kicking, braying in the meadow
made you want to kick and bray yourself at least you said so
you were wild eyed, your lips were flecked with foam
till warm calcutta called you home
twin rivers flowing brought a flush into your cheeks
at the spot where the trickling stream's rivers meet
the wind from off the snowcapped mountains cooled you down
till warm calcutta brought you back around
i could hear the prophets yelling in the streets
now your eyes were pure poison, but your skin was sweet

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