| Come see pioneers starving on trout
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| Meet the drunkards of spirit of soil of stout
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| But old silent fire shall on day be law
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| A side of romance in us all, final call!
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| Here their property’s? |
| days have gone dim
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| And for all the royal silver she still won’t wed him
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| Hear the bastards yes among us they go
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| All flaunting freedom so scarcely known
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| How i see merrily the unmasking of liberty
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| As she bows to misery
|
| ? |
| hands, the joy of dance
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| And this pattern across the great quilt
|
| For ages to span
|
| You’re a traveler packing for years
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| Armor of rage and a shower and tears
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| And you never could see that you were wild and loose
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| Til a baby blue soldier forbid ya to choose
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| Now you cry off with these systems and off with these laws
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| Bring on the seasons traditions and songs
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| The patterns and cycles we hitchers of stars
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| Shall reel in adventure to shatter these boors?
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| To march from these wars
|
| How i see merrily the unmasking of liberty
|
| As she bows to misery
|
| Oh her open? |
| hands, the joy of dance
|
| And this pattern across the great quilt
|
| For ages to span
|
| Oh her open? |
| hands, the joy and the dance
|
| And this pattern across the great quilt
|
| For ages to span |