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Your conscience rolls in torrents down each side of your face. |
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Your chair is full of silence, your hand is full of lace. |
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You say that you should have been by him when the bullets |
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laid his head. |
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Strange it's always the living who fear the idea of the dead. |
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Goodbye. |
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I'll take my leave of all of you as you sit and wonder why. |
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And you who stood around us and said that we were great. |
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Until your instant riches made us second rate. |
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Well you're the same old hangman who rationalizes hope. |
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Whose left hand pats my children and whose right hand holds a case full of rope. |
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He wears the sweeping landscape in the crystal of his eye. |
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And he jumps into the rain pools as the people pass him by. |
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He rubs the dusty ages across his tender brow. |
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He laughs and cries and sniffs and sighs. It's four long summers now. |
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Goodbye. |
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I made my peace with all of you as you sat and wondered why. |
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She walks the clover meadows in the dandelion days. |
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She throws her golden shadows across the silver haze. |
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She wanders with the swallows in the noonday passion plays. |
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She sits beneath the willow and she waits for me and twilight to come our ways. |
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Goodbye. |
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We made our peace with all the world as you sat and wondered why. |