Stephen Song by Fall
It was a thing with a head like a spud ball
It was a song, the song we were looking for
I always have to state to myself
It has nothing to do with me
He has nothing
He is not me
(His vendetta parchment)
Floating grey abundance
Against my palace of conscience
(Our hero deeply loved
Moonlit walked past privet and wide-leaved foliage)
I'll tell you of the rats in this world
Fawning in place with The Face
Men coming between each other
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