Now up and down the siding brown The great black crows are flyin', And down below the spur, I know, Another 'milker's' dyin'; The crops have withered from the ground, The tank's clay bed is glarin', But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin' -- Past worryin' or carin', Past feelin' aught or carin'; But from my heart no tear nor sound, For I have gone past carin'.

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