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638

I raise my eyes to the mountain A caravan of recovering junkies Looking out for bandits In the wilderness

A mother widowed A murderer son in jail Cleaning out our veins At the crossroad

Away from the lights of the city I sleep with a blanket of stars The smoke leaves the fire Like a jinn

Lord guide us and refine us Through the furnace of the day I scribble like a converted druid scribe In a dark cave

I raise my eyes to the mountain A caravan of recovering junkies Looking out for bandits In the wilderness A mother widowed A murderer son in jail Cleaning out our veins At the crossroad Away from the lights of the city I sleep with a blanket of stars The smoke leaves the fire Like a jinn Lord guide us and refine us Through the furnace of the day I scribble like a converted druid scribe In a dark cave

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I write best early morning on days off with a wake up 7am collection of drinks.