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 We spake of many a vanished scene,

Of what we once had thought and said,

Of what had been, and might have been,

And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,

When first they feel, with secret pain,

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,

And never can be one again;
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Fire of Drift-Wood

No place to run to

Where I did not feel that war

When I got home I stayed alone

And checked behind each door
Charlie Daniels Band, "Still in Saigon"
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