| As I rode to your house I was beaten and robbed
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| By a band of moon-faced vagabonds
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| They were rifling through my pockets and untying my shoes
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| When the air began to boil
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| Slow is the black dog in the sky
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| Who pisses and slobbers all over the world
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| From Belford to Wooler, to Beadnell and Ford
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| He slowly devours the land
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| I did not see what occurred but I heard their awful sounds
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| And smelled the perfume of death
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| When I opened my eyes the Sun no longer shined
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| For those poor children
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| Here I lie in the mud, my waistcoat caked in blood
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| Not able to stand of my own volition
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| A flash of lightning illuminates the belly of the beast
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| I see entrails dripping in the trees
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| Slow is the black dog in the sky
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| Who pisses and slobbers all over the world
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| From Belford to Wooler, to Beadnell and Ford
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| He slowly devours the land
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| Now I run through the night though my bones are on fire
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| To see you in the bosom of the hills
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| Through an ocean of fog I am ceaselessly drawn
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| To the lantern in your window
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| To the lantern in your window
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| To the lantern in your window
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| To the lantern in your window |