the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the leaves
And it was in Pontiac that I dug that Jim Crow man in person, a motherferyer that would cut your throat for looking.
... This little bird is tired of singing a shadow-love song It's my heart you're breakin' and your liein' I ain't takin' If you think I'm going to give you my all, you're mistaken Three years I've been yearning for you Three years I've been learning from you .[…]
They call this pond a lake by courtesy only.
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