| A space between three transverse lines
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| That move toward a point sublime
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| Each in its turn each turn in time
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| First one before then one behind
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| We lift the bell across the chime
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| The watcher sees with watchman eyes
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| Each in its turn each turn in time
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| First one before then one behind
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| We shield the soul with faces cold
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| To feed the young we eat the old
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| Each in its turn each turn in time
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| First one before then one behind
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| The grave is waste hear people cry
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| As peeling lips they wait to die
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| Each in its turn each turn in time
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| First one before then one behind
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| The point is named
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| where hands combine
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| eternally
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| doubtfully
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| zero
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| linger on
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| longer than known
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| What Pagan Jester planned our lives
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| And laid our heads on anvils five
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| Who civilised the fateful line
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| Between the point where hands combine
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| You’ve reached your turn
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| You’re next in line
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| Step up my friend
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| I am behind…
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| Lyric: David MacIver
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| Music: Rupert Hine & Simon Jeffes
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| Orchestra: The Martyn Ford Anvil Orchestra & Quartet
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| Linger on: The Anvil Chorus
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| Church Organ: Rupert Hine
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| Conductor: Gilbert Biberian
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| Orchestration: Simon Jeffes
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| There is an anvil for each sense |