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Eight Line Poem
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David Bowie
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1
The tactful cactus by your window
2
Surveys the prairie of your room
3
The mobile spins to its collision
4
Clara puts her head between her paws
5
They've opened shops down the West side
6
Will all the cacti find a home
7
But the key to the city
8
Is in the sun that pins
9
The branches to the sky, oh, oh, oh
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