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There's a stubble field |
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On which a black rain falls |
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There is a tree which, brown, stands lonely here |
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There's a hissing wind |
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Which haunts deserted huts |
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How sad, this evening |
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Past the village pond: the gentle orphan, returning home |
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Still gathers scanty ears of corn |
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Golden and round |
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Her eyes are gazing in the dusk |
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And her throbbing lap awaits the bridegroom... returning home |
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Shepherds found the sweet body |
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Decayed in the bramble bush |
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A shade... I am remote from sombre hamlets |
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I drank from the woodland well |
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The silence of God |
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I can feel the touch of cold steel |
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Spiders look for my heart |
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There is a light that fails in my mouth |
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On my forehead cold metal forms |
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Spiders look for my heart |
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There is a light that fails in my mouth |
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I drank from the woodland well |
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The silence of God |