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CIBOLA
Oh, but the wind sails fine
into the deep pocket's marrow
fiddling, with its turnip and its stew
oh, but we've got a lot to boil over here
bumpty bumpty bump
So when at last the fences come
let them be, let them stand tall
bumpty bumpty bump
they will think you are the lonely pigeon
they won't talk of you when you are gone
and when you are set free, in the heaven's gaze
there will be irises staring at you in wonder
into the deep pocket's marrow
fiddling, with its turnip and its stew
oh, but we've got a lot to boil over here
bumpty bumpty bump
So when at last the fences come
let them be, let them stand tall
bumpty bumpty bump
they will think you are the lonely pigeon
they won't talk of you when you are gone
and when you are set free, in the heaven's gaze
there will be irises staring at you in wonder
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