| Waxwing, waxwing, what do you bring
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| From the frozen North?
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| Waxwing, waxwing, we’ve been waiting on you
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| I bring the amber that I have gathered
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| On the northern seashore
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| For the hatchlings I have fathered for thee
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| I’ve been underground where wyverns are bound
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| And where gold and jewels are found
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| These I hoarded under my barry-brown wing
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| We have no need, no need of your amber
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| Likewise your gold and your jewels--
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| There is no true beauty in things of no use
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| Waxwing, waxwing, my only asking:
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| Tether the braces so cruel
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| Keep my young well-feathered and their bellies full
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| And waxwing, waxwing, what will you do
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| When your days of fathering are through
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| When at last grim Death comes a’knocking on you?
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| I can do nothing but fly in the wake of my kin
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| I will soar onward undaunted and die on the wing
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| I’ll die in the canyon of echoes; |
| you’ll still hear me sing
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| And still I will give to you all the things I bring |