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                                  Quiet morning on the broken street

                                 The dead child !

In the middle of our wars                                          

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                         Imaginary lovers receive our imaginary love

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        Tanks move thru the downtown streets

Of every city in AMERICA

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Quiet
                       The morning dies on the broken street

The child !                            

You sit and watch and start to cry

It is your little brother in the ditch

••

He writes a love poem to pass the time

No one knew what it        means