| GAR, BA Lit,
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| 3rd poet of Avalon,
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| exiled to the broken bit outside Imperium,
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| Not for any mischief,
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| Just enormous indifference in song.
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| You are the people, the people are you,
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| Need I say more?
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| I showed you my back and you showed me your door,
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| Now you don’t know how to open it anymore.
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| I suppose I’ll get used to it after some time,
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| The soil is ridiculous, they make a good wine,
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| The weather comes bracing when it isn’t just treating you fine.
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| But I feel I’ve grown older here and not to the wise,
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| Everything just hurts a little more,
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| Except for the lies,
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| and when the truth comes I cannot disguise my fear.
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| You are the people, the people are you,
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| Need I say more?
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| I showed you my back and you showed me your door,
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| Now I don’t know how to open it anymore.
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| If I mocked my metropoli, pilloried the pillars
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| of an edifice in search of a cliff,
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| With my rank and profession
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| so far in recession,
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| is it even a question of if?
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| There are days I’m reminded, as I gaze on the harbour,
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| Of a younger man blinded
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| and spurred on by ardour
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| for all things eternal,
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| But when you know that you’re mortal,
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| You just can’t afford to admit.
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| City you are the people, the people are you,
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| Need I say more?
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| I showed you my back and you showed me your door,
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| Now we don’t know how to open it anymore. |