Let my inspiration flow in token rhyme, suggesting rhythm
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That will not forsake you, till my tale is told and done
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While the firelight's aglow, strange shadows from the flames will grow
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Till things we've never seen will seem familiar
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Shadows of a sailor, forming winds both foul and fair all swarm
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Down in Carlisle, he loved a lady many years ago
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Here beside him stands a man, a soldier from the looks of him
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Who came through many fights, but lost at love
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While the story teller speaks, a door within the fire creaks
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Suddenly flies open, and a girl is standing there
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Eyes alight, with glowing hair, all that fancy paints as fair
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She takes her fan and throws it, in the lion's den
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Which of you to gain me, tell, will risk uncertain pains of hell
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I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance
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The sailor gave at least a try, the soldier being much too wise
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Strategy was his strength, and not disaster
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The sailor, coming out again, the lady fairly leapt at him
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That's how it stands today. You decide if he was wise
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The story teller makes no choice. Soon you will not hear his voice
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His job is to shed light, and not to master
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Since the end is never told, we pay the teller off in gold
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In hopes he will return, but he cannot be bought or sold
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Lady With The Fan
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Bruce Hornsby |