| Danny laid back and surveyed the view
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| A king on his bench, he was cold, he was blue
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| I asked for permission to give him a note
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| He nodded, not movin', just scratched at his throat
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| Always smiled slightly, seemed so bemused
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| Like he was the one, who was glad to be used
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| I had a sense he was playin' a part
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| But I had to help, for he tore at my heart
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| He would walk, his feet wrapped in rags
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| He wandered the neighborhood, carrying his bags
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| The pride in his eyes would so clearly flash
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| Like I was the one who needed the cash
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| The tramps in our England, have always to walk
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| From Philip to Doss House, a fifteen miles stalk
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| The tramps in our country have no where’s to hug
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| Home hysterics give comfort, there’s no time to talk
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| Danny would lay, he’d never speak
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| Here was a man who had attained his peak
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| No fables to tell, and nothing held back
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| This was a man who had led a strong path
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| Old soldier, perhaps, or a worn, old jailbird
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| Who’d never a hand clean and never a word
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| For two hundred down, my project had fled
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| Danny was gone, or may well have been dead
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| He walked slowly, no hurryin' to death
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| Took in turn his view, with his very last breath
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| The river, the mist and the slightly grey sky
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| Danny was waiting, patient to die
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| The tramps in our England, have always to walk
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| From Philip to Dorchester, fifteen miles strong
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| The tramps in our country have no where’s to hug
|
| Home hysterics give comfort, there’s no time to talk
|
| Danny laid back, looked down and the plain
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| The king on his bench with magnificent mane
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| I asked his permission to give him a note
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| He nodded, not movin', just scratched at his throat
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| It’s dangerous to faction as those who live rough
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| Danny was a giant, solid and tough
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| He allowed me to gift him and scribble this song
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| Without me and my ponies, he lived just as long |