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fools gold cob webs

I was free once,
And nobody cared an inch what I’d be.
That’s how I liked it, that’s what it is to be free
Now, for a year or more,
The state knocking at my door,
They didn’t like my thoughts, considered them a chore
Too bad, that’s what America means
I’ll paint when I’m free
I’ll write when I’m free
I’ll sing when I’m free
I’ll make movies by the sea
Until then the only job that’s possibly clean
Is to make the fools gold, spin cob webs around me

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