| They say there’s an underground river
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| That none of us can see
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| And it flows through winding tunnels
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| On its way to a tide-less sea
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| And across that sea is an island
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| A paradise we are told
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| Where the toils of life are forgotten
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| And they call it the Island of Souls
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| For only a soul can go there
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| A soul that’s been set free
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| From the confines of a working life
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| To find eternity
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| Your old man had a cage for his pigeons
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| But that’s really where he kept his soul
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| And when he watched them fly he would see himself
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| Least that’s how it was told
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| But his soul was still trapped in the cage son
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| While the birds they soared to the sky
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| But he couldn’t find his own way out
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| Least not until the day he died
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| Oh, a man builds a cage with the tools he is given
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| His casket is sealed with a riveter’s gun
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| This solitary madness is where he is driven
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| It was him who was trapped in the soul cage, son
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| It was him that was trapped in the soul cage
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| I know that he loved you, but he hadn’t the words
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| He’d be easier speaking the language of birds
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| For to speak of emotion, it just wasn’t done
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| It was him who was trapped in the soul cage, son
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| It was him that was trapped in the soul cage
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| Oh, a man builds a cage with the tools he is given
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| His casket is sealed with a riveter’s gun
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| This solitary madness is where he is driven
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| It was him who was trapped in the soul cage, son
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| It was him that was trapped in the soul cage |