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I held on for so long. Dusty quaint old song. Things attach with glue. Live and die and gone. . June flowers are so bold. On the devil's paintbrush road.
A long time ago when the earth was green,. and there was more kinds of animals than you've ever seen,. They'd run around free while the earth was being born,.
Yesterday a child came out to wonder. Caught a dragonfly inside a jar. Fearful when the sky was full of thunder. And tearful at the falling of a star.
From the back streets. From the gutter. Hear the sound of. Guns stutter. From dark days. From decline. Marching men. Stand in line. . Soon to die and.
Many blurred dead king's faces. Move photolike through time's gape and gauge. The dull drum's thud and drone. Is not heroic battlebeat. This is the grey clock's cog.
where memories come. and, memories go. to the globe of darkness. turned a smoked window. into the eye. of my anger. at being dragged. into an arena. .
the dawn is ours. if the dream is pure. who invites the world. to the final cure?. . if it has to be. then? let it be now. light the odin incence. for the odin hour!.
Something got hold of me. Oh, yes it did! I said. Something got hold of me. It ratttled around my head.... I went to a meeting last night. But, my heart wasn't right.
Wrap your face in prayers. The ones you sent in dust. And, know they never reached me. You know they never reached me. Every blemish helps endear?. In this earthbound axis.
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I'm alone. you're alone. . the weary moon. from the night before. sinks into the pit. of dawn's gold door. the weary moon. it falls from view. the devil and I.
Through the winter's woods. To the giddy edge of light. We shut the door on pain. Those tales are dead - dead forever. A wind must agree. To blow us on course.
I'm in the mood for lovin' baby all night. Some a dem a player haters don't see why. Why dem a try fe get de F.I.J.I.. Dey know that we rock it so, so.
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Methinks I see a host of craft. Spreading their sails alee. Down the Humber they do glide. All bound for the Northern Sea. Me thinks I see on each small craft.
Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,. For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.. It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,. And it makes us all part of the patriot game..
The Old Orange Flute. In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon. Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in. Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade.
The Lowlands of Holland. The love that I have chosen was to my heart's content.. The salt sea shall be frozen before that I repent.. Repent it I shall never until the day I die.