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The Mountain Goats
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Whole Wide World
The last of the repercussions died off real slow
The sky was still and the cold sun sank down beneath the snow
I hung by my hand from the tree outside
And I looked the whole wide world
The voices came quietly, I shut them down
A tricky young southerly wind came at me with its high whistling sound
I turned around to face it with real arrogance burning inside
And I drank in the whole wide world
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