| When they come from the over the mountain
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| Yeah we’ll run we’ll run right around them
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| We’ve got no guns no we don’t have any weapons
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| Just our corn and the children
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| The dust runs, the dark clouds, but not us, but not us
|
| While we pay for mistakes with no meaning
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| All your gifts and all your peace is deceiving
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| And still I pay dissolves with believing
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| That peace comes, their peace comes
|
| That peace comes, their peace comes
|
| Now that our bones lay buried below us
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| Just like stones pressed into the earth
|
| Well we ain’t known by no one before us
|
| And we begin with this one little birth
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| That grows on, that grows on, that grows on, that grows on
|
| Crippled crow, say something for grieving
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| Where do we go
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| Once we start leaving?
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| Well close that wound
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| Or else keep on bleeding
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| And change your tune
|
| It’s got no meaning |