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I had this dream where I relished the fray |
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And the screaming filled my head all day |
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It was as though I'd been spit here |
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Settled in, into the pocket |
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Of a lighthouse on some rocky socket |
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Off the coast of France, dear |
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One afternoon four thousand men died in the water here |
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And five hundred more were thrashing madly |
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As parasites might in your blood |
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Now I was in a lifeboat designed for ten and ten only |
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Anything that systematic would get you hated |
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It's not a deal nor a test nor a love of something fated |
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The selection was quick, the crew was picked in order |
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And those left in the water |
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Got kicked off our pant leg |
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And we headed for home |
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Then the dream ends when the phone rings |
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"You doing all right?" |
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He said, "It's out there most days and nights |
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But only a fool would complain" |
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Anyway, Susan, if you like |
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Our conversation is as faint a sound in my memory |
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As those fingernails scratching on my hull |