Well I stepped into an avalanche,It covered up my soul;When I am not this hunchback that you see,I sleep beneath the golden hill.You who wish to conquer pain,You must learn, learn to serve me well. You strike my side by accidentAs you go down for your gold.The cripple here that you clothe and feedIs neither
You thought that it could never happenTo all the people that you became,Your body lost in legend, the beast so very tame.But here, right here,Between the birthmark and the stain,Between the ocean and your open vein,Between the snowman and the rain,Once again, once again,Love calls you by your name. The women in your scrapbookWhom you
It’s four in the morning, the end of DecemberI’m writing you now just to see if you’re betterNew York is cold, but I like where I’m livingThere’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening. I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desertYou’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping
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