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Dirty Projectors

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The leaves hang limp
And motionless
And the hairs on my arm
Rest against my skin
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The whispering wind
Of a moment ago (?)
They are still for now
They are still just now
And in the silence
I swear to God
I can hear the sounds
Of the insterstate
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The softer shell
I ate some days ago
Was fried and battered
Soggy and compromised
Now I carry a basket
Of exoskeletons
Down the road I'm on
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