She Died on the Mirror Highway 

She died on the mirror highway. Beauty was a gun, she said, that never was her friend. She died on the mirror highway, a crow orchestra singing over her bones. She died on the mirror highway, pockets empty of holiness or home. Beauty was a gun, she said, that shoulda been her friend. Blow her mind out in the bang-bang boogie light. She died on the mirror highway, listen to her sweet ghost moan. Says to look for her in the lost-soul phonebook, where all the unlisted go. 

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