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The Beaten Sea
Dallas, Texas
United States of America
Winter won’t leave us alone; We’ve been living with it thick as theives. I’m all dry-penned, O! my God, do I really have to sing ‘em all again? Angels beside me at a grave good lord I don’t really want to die. I dream what I don’t understand: wheat fields waving and a snake bit hand, a golden map that breaks where it bends. I’m going South for to see my friends.
Look for our album to come out early in 2010.
Please, do not remove this line.