| Like faithful oxen through the chalk,
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| With dragging tails of history walk.
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| Soon confuse the compass and the cross.
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| Carefully and cursively we fill our travelling diaries with loss.
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| Beneath an angry Bible flood,
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| Did you and I first learn to love.
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| In my father’s car we came to know.
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| And shivered in our painted clothes and paired like every animal below.
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| As heavy as a history book can be,
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| I will carry it with me, oh Lord.
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| And maybe when the bitterness has gone,
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| There’ll be sweetness on our tongues once more.
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| Barefoot in a rowing boat,
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| You lose your shoes and freeze your toes.
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| And say I wear my sorrow like a crown.
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| And throw your arms around my head, and see it there in gold and red and brown.
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| As heavy as a history book can be,
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| I will carry it with me, oh Lord.
|
| And maybe when the bitterness has gone,
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| There’ll be sweetness on our tongues once more.
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| We’ll soon forget our parents' names,
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| Like dogs will drive the wolves away.
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| And weep with fingertips opposed,
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| Like a church where nobody congregates.
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| But sweetness sings in the pasture,
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| We throw ourselves on the mercy of the earth.
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| If sand and salt have the answer,
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| Then the act itself will be louder than the word.
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| And I’ll be on your side. |