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Pollens
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Helping Hand
If allowed through the thick of them, visions
Make decisions, ritualed repetitions
All the moves a person knows
All the ranks and rows
He suffers blows he's dealt and eats his arrows
And around here we go again
Where's he been?
Found prison's not open
Without regard for which is right, gives up every fight
Keeps in sight, steep and bright, but sleeping
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