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She walked through the train, looking for the door,
Having paid a full-fare ticket, to find her way home,
87 days gone by, 3 or 4 to go,
her heans are ripped and tattered, her heart is full of holes.
Abigail, you damn sweet thing, time to let go of those dreams,
and come right down now, come home.
Her eyes were filled with thunder, her lungs were full of soul,
Her bank account was empty; to make a life she stole.
The road was wearing on her, misguided by the hope,
Of sunrise on the horizon, but nowhere to go...