July
Wednesday 19 September 2007 photo 4/4
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Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black And the dark street winds and bends. Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And watch where the chalk-white arrows go To the place where the sidewalk ends. Yes we`ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, And we`ll go where the chalk-white arrows go, For the children, they mark, and the children, they know The place where the sidewalk ends.
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