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Does everybody come here, to your silent field of shiny crows playing absent chaperon?
Does everybody lie here, pressed down into the cool, sweet grass, enwoven and forgotten?
Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me into the Age of Stone
And sit with me a moment, while all the other ages pass
Does everybody come here, to your ramble house with its dogged thorns and distant kettle sounds?
Does everybody lie here, in your flower room with its scattered postcards all patched into a wall?
Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me into the Age of Stone
And sit with me a moment, while all the other ages pass
Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
And please don't tell me
That everybody comes here, to your little lost car with its crows-feet scars and windows licked with snow.
That everybody lies here amidst the ebbing maps and the bottle caps and the dusky rivulets
Don't tell me I'm the first, don't tell me I'm the last
Just kiss me into the Age of Stone
And wait with me here while none of this has ever begun
~ Brendan Bonsack
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