| Come on out Georgine, they have all gone.
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| Come on, and drink the linctus,
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| We’ll move out of the bed-sits…
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| Now we’re not too young,
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| But our chance has landed and we’re just so imminent,
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| Yet you seem so distant.
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| The nights crow’s been landing lately…
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| He’s in cahoots with the slim white lady…
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| You can call this a Swan song.
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| Carry me through scilences so awkward,
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| See me and raise a sentence, a turn of phrase,
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| A breaking omnipotent waves of youth in it’s last flushes,
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| Let eyes retain their brilliance, keep crows from landing,
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| And the span of their web spreading,
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| In cahoots with the slim white lady…
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| In cahoots with the slim white lady,
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| Cahoots with the slim white lady…
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| Now I’ll never desert your arms.
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| Now I’ll never desert your arms.
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| Away for Benelux…
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| You take the shrill echo away when I pray for better luck.
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| We’ll soar from bridges to the swans,
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| Our bullets into the water become the bird of song.
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| You can call this a Swan song.
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| I love the way you are late.
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| I’m coming home for Christmas, to hold open your weight.
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| Hold open your weight. |