Category: Poetry
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California Muslims livin’ a sweet dream
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now we speak real low and laugh a lot less
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my grandpa, he keeps the dirt under his fingernails as long as he can
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death is my tenderness, we lose ourselves in the hope
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This is the season of farewells
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I will never be small
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desired tenderness cosyclose
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The hillside, buff & white, is an illusion
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Oh Lord, I might’ve taken too much of your time
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today the street lights dance
