| A hundred servants surrounded
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| A hundred kings made vows
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| A hundred they are that went
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| A hundred they are that came
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| A hundred minstrels sang
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| And he foretold of them
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| A river follows the flow
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| I know its length
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| I know when it fades
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| I know when it refills
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| I know when it spills
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| I know when it wanes
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| I know which foundation
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| There is under the sea
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| This is the weird of a world old folk
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| That not ‘til, the last link breaks
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| Not ‘til the night is blackest
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| The blood of Hengist awakes
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| When the sun is black in heaven
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| The moon as blood above
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| And the earth is full of hatred
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| This People tell its love
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| Deep grows the hate of kindred
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| Its roots take hold on hell;
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| No peace or praise can heal it
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| But a stranger heals it well
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| Seas shall be red as sunsets
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| And kings' bones float as foam
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| And heaven be dark with vultures
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| The night our son comes home
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| I know the figure
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| Between heaven and earth;
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| When an opposite hill is echoing
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| When devastation urges onward
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| When the silvery is shining
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| When the deli shall be gloomy
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| The breath when it is black
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| When it’s best that has been
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| In the deep it will cease from ire;
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| It will be excessively angry;
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| In the deep, below the earth;
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| In the sky, above the earth
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| In change, eclipse and peril
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| Under the whole world’s scorn
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| By blood and death and darkness
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| The Saxon peace is sworn;
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| That all our fruit be gathered
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| And all our race take hands
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| And the sea be a Saxon river
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| That runs through Saxon lands
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| Lo! |
| Not in vain we bore him;
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| Behold it! |
| Not in vain
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| Four centuries dooms of torture
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| Choked in the throat, restraint |