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We sons and daughters of the surf,
Are born of clay, and rock, and dirt,
And with the earth beneath us can sleep soundly.
Alas; the rest all made it home,
While I - the malcontent - still roam,
Still wander. The waves still crash around me.
Are born of clay, and rock, and dirt,
And with the earth beneath us can sleep soundly.
Alas; the rest all made it home,
While I - the malcontent - still roam,
Still wander. The waves still crash around me.
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