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The lights of the ashes smoulder through hills and vales
Picasso is painting the ships in the harbour
Nostalgia burns in the hearts of the strongest
The rope is cut, the rabbit loose
These are the years with a genius for living
The wind and sails
(Fire at will in this open season)
The blood of the poet, the ink in the well
(It's all written down in this age of reason)
The bitterness shown on the face of the homeless
The sudden rain
The animals run through harvested fields of fire
Picasso is paining the flames from the houses
These are the years with a genius for living
The rope has been cut, the rabbit is loose
The blood of the poet, the ink in the well
(Fire at will in this open season)
(It's all written down in this age of reason)
Fire at will
Fire at will
Fire at will
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