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Thanksgiving (Poi Dog Pondering)

Somehow I find myself far out of line from the ones I had drawn Wasn't the best of paths, you could attest to that, but I'm keeping on. Would our paths cross if every great loss had turned out our gain? Would our paths cross if the pain it had cost us was paid in vain? There was no pot of gold, hardly a rainbow lighting my way But I will be true to the red, black and blues that colored those days. I owe my soul to each fork in the road, each misleading sign. 'Cause even in solitude, no bitter attitude can dissolve my sweetest find Thanksgiving for every wrong move that made it right.