| I dreamed I saw St. Augustine,
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| Alive as you or me,
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| Tearing through these quarters
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| In the utmost misery,
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| With a blanket underneath his arm
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| And a coat of solid gold,
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| Searching for the very souls
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| Whom already have been sold.
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| «Arise, arise,"he cried so loud,
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| In a voice without restraint,
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| «Come out, ye gifted kings and queens
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| And hear my sad complaint.
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| No martyr is among ye now
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| Whom you can call your own,
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| So go on your way accordingly
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| But know you’re not alone.»
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| I dreamed I saw St. Augustine,
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| Alive with fiery breath,
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| And I dreamed I was amongst the ones
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| That put him out to death.
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| Oh, I awoke in anger,
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| So alone and terrified,
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| I put my fingers against the glass
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| And bowed my head and cried. |