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This is a song, not like the other ones, |
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secret and selfish and somewhat hollow. |
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In the middle of this song there seemed to grown another |
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Of indeterminate length and origin. |
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To populate a people's song, first you must do something wrong, |
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If you've never been infirm you can never be strong. |
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Prune your rose bushes, Djamila, (Glenn) |
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Or you'll never see your home again. |
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Country and city, kingdom of the well, of the unwell, |
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You dwell in them both like a ghost - |
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When old King George said to my long dead kin |
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"Ten summers and winters in Arthur will do you in" |
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He cut out his heart and he buried the sin there in England. |
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Prune your rose bushes Luis, (Glenn) |
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Oh they'll grow up again, |
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There may still be a next year, who knows? |
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If you're lonely take a drink, there are better things to think, |
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Think on ancient cities, sunsets and girls in Spring. |
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You needed a song, I needed one too, |
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So keep listening |
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FOR MY OFFER TO YOU |
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Take it with good grace and humour too |
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First came the golden age |
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When there was no need of proof, |
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When lions ate flowers and your house |
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Didn't need a roof. |
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Then came the silver days |
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When a boy saw himself for the first time |
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In the reflection of a blade |
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Then he saw the way |
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To populate a people's song. |
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First he must do something wrong. |
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If you've never heard the music you never will |
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Prune your rose bushes Billy and Toby. (Glenn) |
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So they'll soon grow up again, |
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There may still be a next year, who knows? |
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If you're lonely, take a drink, |
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There are better things to think |
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Think on ancient cities, sunsets and girls in Spring. |
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Because all the tears that you mend, |
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They will open up again. |
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And weren't you suppose to call your friends this evening? |
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It rained all night the day I left. |
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The weather it was fine, |
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It rained all night the day I left |