My mind is the color of locking,
And the flavour of dying day,
If the King and his Hope come knocking,
Tell them I've melted away.

If the girl that I love comes a' looking,
Tell her I haven't gone far,
And that supper is merrily cooking,
And is it the end of the war?

All I have dreamed of is oiled like hinges,
The first days of hoping are at the world's end,
O' look at my body there broken in battle,
And say that I was your friend.

<<agé chose>>

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