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And this will be all?And the gates will never open again?And the dust and the wind will play around the rusty doorhinges and the songs of October moan, Why-oh, why-oh?And you will look to the mountainsAnd the mountains will look to youAnd you will wish you were a mountainAnd the mountain will wish nothing at all?This will be all?The gates will never-never open again?The dust and the wind onlyAnd the rusty door hinges and moaning OctoberAnd Why-oh, why-oh, in the moaning dry leaves,This will be all?Nothing in the air but songsAnd no singers, no mouths to know the songs?You tell us a woman with a heartache tells you it is so?This will be all?
–Carl Sandburg
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