and with the sunshine over my head
The honky-tonks are all closed and hushed
It looks like Palm Sunday again
The sky is so green, clouds of canary
Blood moon rise like a fat ripe cherry
Sunset quiet as a benediction
One true love, the rest is fiction
If I stay longer, trouble will find me
An epitaph and a sheet to wind me
A passable day for the least of men
it must be Palm Sunday again
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