M. Redbone/ A. Whitby stayed in bed i'm not a sleepyhead i've been accused of dreaming in neverland what you don't know i guess you'll never know that
Less talk, more dancing If we could push off the sick conversation one more night I surely would My shoes have gathered the dust of the vineyard Have
In the place where all spirits rest I leave my soul to touch the fate of fire So proud, so strong, but yet, desperate as it fades While thoughts and pictures
The golden sun is ever gentle in the Valley of Making, Where it's the middle of the Autumn when it isn't high Spring, There are men of many colors and
A wild boar has entered in the vineyard We'll burn his books and skin him alive And we'll do him like all the rest He never more will rise You are Babylon
(O'Connor) If you had a vineyard On a fruitful hill And you fenced it and cleared it Of all stones yountil You planted it With the choicest of vine And
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