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I believe I could build a utopia
With the western third of the land
(Poem by Walt Whitman)
I believe I could build a utopia
With the western third of the land
To thrust in the earth ears of barley
And pull up bread with my hands
The night of the crickets is fading
And the dawn of new orders is nigh
The gates are lit by the torches
They rival the bright of the sky
They rival the bright of the sky, the sky
they rival the bright of the sky!
quoth the raven to the bat
as slunk along the fence
a black as midnight cat
the storm was brewing fast
in the cauldron of the sky
the rain was thundering down
on the far flung fields of rye
inky black and sooty stars
pushing doubts through
the last stone wall
a hole in the clouds
straight to mars