The wretched desert takes its form, the jackal proud and tight.
In search of you, I feel my way, through the slowest heaving night.
Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense.
I reach through the border fence.
Come down, come talk to me. (Peter Gabriel)

The wretched desert takes its form, the jackal proud and tight. In search of you, I feel my way, through the slowest heaving night. Whatever fear invents, I swear it makes no sense. I reach through the border fence. Come down, come talk to me.

Peter Gabriel

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