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Poleman
Twenty pine mountains fall on
a cold Kentucky night.
Cold moon is drifting through a black Kentucky night.
Your eyes are drifting like a heart set loose at sea-
Raft to Indiana that is drifting through to me.
Did you ever think of me as your poleman?
You danced like wildfire in
a melancholy wind,
A piece of river that was shaking in the wind,
A lonely orphan dreaming of his family,
Three-headed brother do you ever dream of me?
Do you ever think of me as your poleman?
Which is the one, the one that
you prefer?
The soft touch of sheets, or the gentle feel of words?
The soft sound of singing? Or the gentle feel of legs?
A past filled with stories, or a future stocked with days?
And did you ever think of me as your poleman?
If you could reach your eyes
like arms stretched out to me,
Kentucky friend, is Indiana what you see?
Do ghosts set sail across that river out to me?
Is the soft, the feeling of your sheets a mystery?
And do you ever think of me as your poleman?
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