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Going Through Pomona
por
The Mountain Goats
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The lights are on in your room so tell me Who's your friend? And the lights are burning in the little house on east end And I remembered who I was And what I came here for The moon was caught high in the branches of the sycamore And on my neck I felt the cold wind And it licked around my ears and it asked me to ask you, yeah Who's your friend? And the lights came down over Pomona, blazed again before your front door The moon was caught high in the branches of thе sycamore
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