Let's go back from whence we slept,
to times when we didn't dream about the Cape,
or those guns,
or those guys coming West,
they were getting the best of me,
these dreams,
and I was struggling with that,
with the visages and reveries,
and those mares did not move as briskly as I needed them to,
not through here,
not in my synapses,
but if we could go back from whence we slept,
better,
longer,
and when we awoke without the notions of them coming for blood,
striking out West,
in this Rush,
we would want that good sleep,
the bright kind,
the right kind
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