| I don’t want to fall on the lame
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| I don’t want to hurt their fathers
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| The Black Hut burns on the ridge everyday
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| You got to run away from that slaughter
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| And forget the beauty of the rains
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| It is beauty that moves us along
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| Into the grass that strokes our graves
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| We shall be brave, we shall be gay
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| And stick a needle into the sun
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| I don’t want to call out their name
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| I hear it in the rough and the heather
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| I’m standing at the edge of a valley and it’s cold
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| The villagers? |
| They hate me, but I know you are alone
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| So stick it in my heart and let me keep it safe and low
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| What a way to love: it is beauty that moves us along:
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| Into the grass that strokes our graves, we shall be brave, we shall be gay
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| And stick a needle in the sun
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| I built the walls, and I built the walls… |