| There’s an old man talkin
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| To a young boy weepin
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| To an old man shaking his head
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| There’s a cool gentle breeze
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| In the night full of light
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| As the red glow wavers in the stead
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| There’s a black man crying
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| And a white man dyin
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| And a black man’s head in the air
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| The shock of life
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| Feeds the fight
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| The fight that’s in my head
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| Holding tight in the stillness of the night
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| In the stillness of my thoughts
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| Yet, I know I’ve only started
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| Beating on a tin drum marching to a sound
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| What is it I think?
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| Am I beating on a tin drum marching to a cause
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| When I don’t know what it is I believe
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| Lonely peeping chick
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| Calling to his mother
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| Runs amuck
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| In a sunken black ditch
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| And wilham’s with the widow
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| While martha’s in the meadow
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| And the lamb is a layin in sick
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| And the boy in back
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| Is talking some slack
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| To the king of auld lang syne
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| And my heart goes out
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| But I cannot spout what I do not know inside
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| Holding tight in the stillness of my mind
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| In the stillness of my thought
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| Yet, I know I’ve only started |