| She wore a black tiara
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| Rare gems upon her fingers
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| And she came from distant waters
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| Where northern lights explode
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| To celebrate the dawning
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| Of the new wastes of winter
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| Gathering royal momentum
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| On the icy road
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| With chill mists swirling
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| Like petticoats in motion
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| Sighted on horizons
|
| For ten thousand years
|
| The lady of the ice sounds
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| A deathly distant rumble
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| To Titanic-breaking children lost
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| In melting crystal tears
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| Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
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| I’m a needle on a spiral in a groove
|
| And the turntable spins
|
| As the last waltz begins
|
| And the weather-man says
|
| Something’s on the move
|
| Capturing black pieces
|
| In a glass-fronted museum
|
| The white queen rolls
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| On the chessboard of the dawn
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| Squeezing through the valleys
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| Pausing briefly in the corries
|
| The Ice-Mother mates
|
| And a new age is born
|
| Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
|
| I’m a needle on a spiral in a groove
|
| And the turntable spins
|
| As the last waltz begins
|
| And the weather-man says
|
| Something’s on the move
|
| Driving all before her
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| Un-stoppable, un-straining
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| Her cold creaking mass
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| Follows reindeer down
|
| Thin spreading fingers seek
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| To embrace the sill-warm bundles
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| That huddle on the doorsteps
|
| Of a white London Town
|
| Oh, sunshine --- take me now away from here
|
| I’m a needle on a spiral in a groove
|
| And the turntable spins
|
| As the last waltz begins
|
| And the weather-man says
|
| Something’s on the move |