By Robin Williamson
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Robin Williamson: Guitar, indian flute, oboe, piano, cello and vocal.
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I see your faces
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blown through the horned clouds
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in the silent cities
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they call me so loud
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come through the fire
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come through the foam
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come at the world's night
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call the herds home
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dearest child dearest child
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Most High
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please don't let our fancy die
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till all the grapes are gathered from the vine
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when you come
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will you sound the harp
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give to the blind
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cat's eyes in the dark
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o will we know you for what you are
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you who have come so far
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sweetest fair sweetest fair
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Most High
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don't let them cut that ladder before its time
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for all the grapes to be gathered from the vine
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He comes again
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She comes again
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through the mist of time
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through the mist of rain
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no more words my heart brims over
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in the sea of circustance
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rows for the rocky shore
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we who have sworn
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by the dead and the unborn
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wheels within wheels
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O Most High.
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Through the Horned Clouds
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Robin Williamson |