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I have a lot of interest in interior rhyming; not just rhyming at the end of the lines, but playing around with rhymes within the lines, playing with where the syllabic emphases in the sentences are, lining those up at strange moments in the line of the song. I’m not sure if that comes across or not.
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People in San Francisco and the East Bay have shown interest, done interviews, and have come to shows. I guess that the news travels fast out of this island that we are on.
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In this life, who did you love,beneath the drifting ashes,beneath the sheeting banks of airthat barrenly bore our rations?
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We sailed away on a winter's dayWith fate as malleable as clayBut ships are fallible, I sayAnd the nautical, as all things, fades.
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This is the song for Baby Birch. I will never know you. And at the back of what we've done, there is that knowledge of you.
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I am producing sounds that people are not used to hearing from the harp.
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I do as I please.Now I'm on my knees.Your skin is something that I stir into my tea.And I am watching youand you are starry, starry, starry...
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A feather of a hawk was boundBound around my neckA poultice made of figThe eager little vultures pecked