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I spin tales each day of this world full of wonder |
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I hear people say, "You can harvest the plunder" |
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But as I reach out with a trembling hand |
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All the gold coins just turn into sand |
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I feel very weary, my temper is biting |
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I know I've grown leery and tired of the fighting |
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I pray everyday that it all will be grand |
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But I sure could use help of your kind, friendly hand |
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Please, Storyteller, pull a tale from your pocket |
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Spin me a story from your coattail so bare |
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My heart has turned cold, my dreams are too old |
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And I need to know magic's still there |
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My own coat's too thin and I'm down to the lining |
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The spirit within on itself is entwining |
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My colors are faded, my cuffs are both worn |
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And the seam down the back is all tattered and torn |
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Please, Storyteller, pull a tale from your pocket |
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Spin me a story from your coattail so bare |
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My heart has turned cold, my dreams are too old |
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And I need to know magic's still there |
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I walk through your door, see the smile that won't tire |
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I sit on the floor with your dog by the fire |
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You'll guide me on walkways where the faerie lights burn |
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And I hope that I never return |
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Who'll keep the firelight bright when you're gone? |
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Who has the insight to help me go on? |
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You taught me that stories, once told, can come true |
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And I hope that I tell them with magic, like you |
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Please, Storyteller, pull a tale from your pocket |
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Spin me a story from your coattail so bare |
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My heart has turned cold, my dreams are too old |
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And I need to know magic's still there |
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Please, Storyteller, pull a tale from your pocket |
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Spin me a story from your coattail so bare |
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My heart has turned cold, my dreams are too old |
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And I need to know magic's still there |