| Oh, my stars that fall like ashen memories amidst
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| The trees then burst like leper sunsets on the shore
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| In english town my sweetheart weeps, and how i
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| Would prefer to be counting sheep than fighting
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| In the war
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| Now lunatic and fire pistol deep into my brain
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| Once more into the breach, into the fray
|
| Insane, i see the rough-house boys
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| Descend onto the green
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| The candle burns the hours that light the day
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| But now i am the undergrowth and still i would
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| Prefer to be leaving hell and travelling far away
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| In short, the village ignorants are plundering my town
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| It s a savage heart that beats them on their way
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| So lunatic and fire your pistol deep into my brain
|
| Once more into the breach, into the fray
|
| Insane, i see the rough house-boys
|
| Descend onto my green
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| The cande burns the hours that light the day
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| But safe in my uniform
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| In no other way
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| Cast out and destitute
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| Ridden once with violence
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| Now i decay
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| But long ago i had a friend, honey
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| And sound and fury was his game
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| With pure contempt for any picture, honey
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| Just dedication to the frame
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| No stomach for the fighting
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| No fear of cannon fire
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| So lunatic just fire your pistol there |