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Ray Lamontagne - Winter Birds |
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It's the Widow now that owns that angry plow, |
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The spartan Mule and The Crippled Cow |
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The fallow field that will yield no more, |
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As the fox lay sleeping beneath her kitchen floor |
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The stream can't contain such the withering rain, |
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And from the pasture the fence it is leaning away |
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The clouds crack and growl |
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Like some great cat on the prowl |
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Crying out, "I am, I am" over and over again |
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The days grow short |
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As the nights grow long |
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The kettle sings its tortured song |
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As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow, |
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Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now |
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The winter birds have come back again, |
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Here the sprightly Chickadee |
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Gone now is the Willow Wren |
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In passing greet each other as if old, old friends |
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And to the voiceless trees |
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It is their own they will lend |
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The days grow short |
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As the nights grow long |
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The kettle sings its tortured song |
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As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow, |
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Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now |
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And though all these things will change, |
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The memories will remain |
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As green to gold, and gold to brown |
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The leaves will fall to feed the ground |
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And in their falling, make no sound |
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Oh my lady, lady I am loving you now |
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I've gathered all my money and I'm goin' to town, |
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To buy my lady a long and flowing gown |
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'Cause come tomorrow morning |
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We're off to the county fair |
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I'll find a yellow flower |
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And I will lace it in her hair |
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The days grow short |
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As the nights grow long |
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The kettle sings its tortured song |
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As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow, |
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Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now |
[05:30.86] |
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