| A gale of psalms from the chapel doors
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| Some trembling song stretched heavenward
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| And carried on the cold wild wind
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| Lingering in March
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| Steadied hand on steady glass
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| A toast to absent company
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| Bartered blood and borrowed brass
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| While outside sirens sing
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| Left at last call
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| Dreamed a dream by the old canal
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| He slept through the night
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| And they came and they traced him in white
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| On Ash Wednesday
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| So midnight falls still and black
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| As silent as that maker’s hand
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| That left you reeling, left you cold
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| When your weary world it woke
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| The phone dropped to the floor in the kitchen
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| The TV was flickering, hissing the news
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| Some far flung half truths
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| But home’s where the heart is
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| And home’s where the hurt is too
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| I left at last call
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| Dreamed a ghost on the 44
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| In amber light, O the city sleeps peaceful tonight
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| On Ash Wednesday |