Kite Flying
Willard Grant Conspiracy
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Beneath the blue Organ Mountains
Beneath the sky and the stars
Far from the trail I hear
You sigh
I hear you sigh
In the skin, in the skin
Where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin
It stretches thin
In the wind
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Freed from the flesh and the bone
Stretched on a cross of wood
Tied to a string and then
Flown away in the wind
In the skin, in the skin
Where memory begins
In the skin, in the skin
It stretches thin
In the wind