Don't send me to Sheol.
It's too much like home.
I've known the palest mornings.
I've held back locusts swarming.
O don't leave.
Don't send me to Sheol.
The cracked earth is too tired.
I see the highways crawling,
I hear the tall trees longing.
My house is empty.
I've seen a holy man cut down.
I've lived in shadows of great fathers.
I've watched my generation sleep.

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