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Well, this might sound quite silly, but I like dusting. You know, with the little feather duster. Swishing it around all over the table top, the knick-knacks, the top of the tv. Something oddly satisfying about dusting with one of those and sweeping away the thin layer of life's near-invisible detritus.
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As long as the sun is in the sky,
these doggone blues never make me cry.
But ever since she left this town,
the blues come around when the sun goes down.
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