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The High Countries |
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A
bus station, in the steam from the rain In this line of pale strangers, should I go or stay?
The whole field of vision, fades beneath me now
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand
Would you fall to pieces
We
are just pilgrims of the great divorce
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand
You drink the cup to the bottom, but it burns in your
hands
Out on the green plains, I am but a ghost |
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