Lyrics by P. Kavanagh
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On Raglan Road on an Autumn day
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I saw her first and knew,
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that her dark hair would weave a snare
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that I might one day rue.
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I saw the danger yet I walked
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along the enchanted way.
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And I said, "Let grief be a fallen leaf
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at the dawning of the day."
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On Grafton Street in November,
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we tripped lightly along the ledge
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of a deep ravine where can be seen
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the worth of passions pledge.
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The Queen of Hearts still making tarts
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and I not making hay.
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Oh, I loved too much by such, by such
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is happiness blown away.
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I gave her gifts of the mind,
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I gave her the secret sign that's known
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to the artists who have known the true
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gods of sound and stone.
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And word and tint I did not stint
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for I gave her poems to say.
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With her own name there and her dark hair,
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like clouds over fields of May.
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On a quiet street where old ghosts meet
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I see her walking now,
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away from me so hurriedly.
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My reason must allow,
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that I had ruled, not as I should.
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A creature made of clay.
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When the angel woos the clay,
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he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.
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Raglan Road
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Joan Osborne |