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What cruel fire, what land forlorn |
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Will raise its plaint in time? |
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What black spring blooms |
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In your eyes? |
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Whose blood will taint |
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This land of mine? |
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And he who makes bread |
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Ought to eat |
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And he who fights ought to rest |
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And though it is truth we seek |
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It just won't do to serve |
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With the best |
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Now make your pact with time |
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And the worlds you are stealing |
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For you will only find me |
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In what I'm leaving |
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And we'll all be drowned |
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Just wait and see |
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In the hollow sound |
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Of marching feet |
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And the blood bleeds black |
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The blood runs red |
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You made all t hat is yours |
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But they are here to offend |
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Your housings |
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Your silent tents |
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And to teach all eyes to close |
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But you sold your spades |
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On the mournful autumn train |
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A lifetime ago |
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And you give the fruit |
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Of your flight |
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For a loaf of light |
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For you don't know |
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How to make your pact with time |
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And the worlds you are stealing |
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For you will only find me |
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In what I'm leaving |
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And we'll all be drowned |
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Just wait and see |
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In the hollow sound |
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Of marching feet |
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And we'll all be drowned |
|
Just wait and see |
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In the hollow sound |
|
Of marching feet |