The market-place has nothing to sell
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Left alone its awnings shiver
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Wind whistles through the wood
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Fish teeth snapping in a river
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Peaks puncture the sky
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Like a child's icy toes
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Dipped in a stream
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That a few of us know
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And the cloud just a ripple?
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A shock from the impact?
|
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Shadows on the streets
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Look like veils at morning
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Ice blots in the stone cracks
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Where tears must have fallen
|
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Oil by the bucket feeds flares to the heavens
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Offerings of incense, small bills and lemons
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Drumbeats in the caves
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And heartbeats in the huts
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Protectors unveiled for the first time in months
|
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You find some best friends,
|
We'll hold each other
|
And I'll turn the bells
|
I'll turn the bells [2x]
|
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The storm clouds pass and everything's for sale
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The chattering of rapids,
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And bartering of sunset
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Beads crunch like bones
|
Through fingers and knuckles
|
Poor hans pick cheap quartz
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In the quarries and cliff-edge
|
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A group od sandalwood trees
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With clotted blood coloured bark
|
Candle-lit teeth
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Half-moon smiles in the dark
|
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The biker gangs smoking
|
On the edge of the lake
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The smoke like white horses
|
A white-eyed mistake
|
There's spirits in the water
|
Like photos in a box
|
They're torn by the current
|
And crushed by the rocks
|
|
You find some best friends,
|
We'll hold each other
|
And I'll turn the bells
|
I'll turn the bells [4x]
|
|
-----------------
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Turn The Bells
|
White Lies |