costa (memories of under-development) - robert wyatt lyrics
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orange,
fierce orange of the egg shaped fireball
plopping into the ocean
as the earth tips backwards towards night
orange,
scratched orange of the gas bottles
delievered, for lack of pipeline
dragged to the door by the man in a wig
orange,
soft orange of two full moons
one high, one low in a puddle mirror
floating in a pathole of the unmade road
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