Snow
Snow took us away from the smoke valleys into white mountains, we saw velvet blue cows eating a vermilion grass and they gave us a pink milk.
Snow changes our bones into fog streamers caught by the wind and spelled into many dances.
Six bits for a sniff of snow in the old days bought us bubbles beautiful to forget floating long-arm women across sunny autumn hills.
Our bones cry and cry, no let-up, cry their telegrams:
More, more — a yen is on, a long yen and God only knows when it will end.
In the old days six bits got us snow and stopped the yen — now the government says: No, no, when our bones cry their telegrams: More, more.
The blue cows are dying, no more pink milk, no more floating long-arm women, the hills are empty — us for the smoke valleys — sneeze and shiver and croak, you dopes — the government says: No, no.
Snow changes our bones into fog streamers caught by the wind and spelled into many dances.
Six bits for a sniff of snow in the old days bought us bubbles beautiful to forget floating long-arm women across sunny autumn hills.
Our bones cry and cry, no let-up, cry their telegrams:
More, more — a yen is on, a long yen and God only knows when it will end.
In the old days six bits got us snow and stopped the yen — now the government says: No, no, when our bones cry their telegrams: More, more.
The blue cows are dying, no more pink milk, no more floating long-arm women, the hills are empty — us for the smoke valleys — sneeze and shiver and croak, you dopes — the government says: No, no.
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