| As the wheels all turn, and the noon Sun burns
|
| A story rolls off this tongue, it extols
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| The miles between, your son; |
| your child
|
| Remember the days when he was young, wild, and alive
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| This evening brought his end; |
| his time
|
| No tears from grief
|
| Just a Virgin for his shrine
|
| A floral wreath
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| And the shame for his crime
|
| Remember the days when he was young, wild, and alive
|
| Across these wide oceans—smoke blacks out innocent days
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| So old misers can cash out in places they pray and prey
|
| Gently escape or let them live on in you
|
| He sang this song to young olive eyes
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| And took her hand across the burning sands
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| From desert plains they moved, so young so wild and alive
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| They were raised to believe the sea would dry before they died
|
| Across these wide oceans, smoke blacks out innocent days
|
| So old misers can cash out in places they pray and prey
|
| Gently escape and let them live on in you |