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Fire burning in a hill |
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The lines are rocky rough |
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Red angels wait to pick remains |
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The cindered shoulder |
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Of confused men |
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Seperate from their awe |
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With grey desire |
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He looks out mad |
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His soft grey indigo eyes |
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Indigo eyes |
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Asking His heaven is uncovered not |
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A black tree blocks his way |
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His way is skating round a dome |
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His way is in dismay |
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The playmate sings |
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Like Orphee in some thunder world |
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Asking to be bathed in light |
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To be exemplified |
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Like Orphee in some thunder world |
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Asking to be bathed in light |
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To be exemplified |
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With grey desire he looks out mad |
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His soft grey indigo eyes |
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Saw his past |
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He had dug for trust |
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With blind infected hands |
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And wondered as the hurt bit hard |
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Why the sacred weren't at hand |
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Only when his ears were deaf |
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To the angels light burst waves |
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Only when his ears were deaf |
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Did life turn from fog to fog |
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But not evil but estranged |
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But not evil but estranged |
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Indigo eyes, |
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Indigo eyes |
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Indigo eyes, |
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Indigo eyes |
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With grey desire |
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He looks out mad |
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His soft grey |
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Indigo eyes |
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Indigo eyes |