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Long roads mean long escapades,
Winding roads will always bend,
But no road means more decadence,
Than Weeping Willow's End.
This letter there I send.
Brooks of brackish water flow,
Beneath the brine of years ago,
Their spirits climb these trees,
But never me that hill descend-
That one near side of Willow's End,
Where d'eyes of d'evil dark deceased.
I send a letter to'er each day,
The Weeping Widow of Willow's End,
She's been long gone from years and on,
Her letters still I send,
To Widow's Weeping Willow's End,
Across the wilder way,
Each and ev'ry day,
While my hands to writing pens still lend.
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