Young pretty hair, oh how'd you grow there What it is, what it is? Ain't no wonder at all You clung to your cloud and devoured your wealth Like it is
, Here the road ends. Here's the stable of my horse, Here was born my silver haired mount. Keep on galloping my black horse carrying me to unknown shores
you've been, won't you, won't you come to me? Flashback, patches of grass growin' wild in fact Cracked walls burnt black like a kingdom sacked Memories
and cattle, now we battle Used to pass over Brooks of Qe'ron Towers of Lebanon, the pool of Gechron We used to sing songs, upon Mount Hebron How is gold
in an immense state of frenzy the creature leaps up off the ridge and hollers with dignity in the now cloudless sky its long red hair blowing freely
My hair is black and red My hair is yellow My eyes are brown and green and blue My name is Jack and Fred My name's Amanda Sue I'm called Kareem
I guided my foot into dance Eyes black as of coal Followed my steps from the forest's edge Hear my song across salty seas - from infinite time Over mountains
this goodbye The view now is painted black. A new sun is rising now, brander, warmer upon the dawn, thrusted by the deadlike stars, crowded through the mountain
and the cars won't go There's a lump in your throat There's no songs on the radio And the walls caved in and the well went dry And the mountains shook
loved. But help me! I'm leaving! I remember everything, down to the sound of you shaving-- the scrape of your razor, the dully-abrading black hair that
swan When she saw a shadow on the plain Come betwixt her and the sun. "Oh, mother, is it a thundercloud Or a flight of ravens in the air, Or a black
want to hear a song that makes me believe in something I want to hear a song that makes me believe something I want to hear a song that makes me believe
countenance: O Jew. Leave counting gold! Return to thy oil and wine. O African! Black African! (Go, winged thought, widen his forehead) 13. The fiery limbs, the flaming hair
you loved But help me I'm leaving I remember everything Down to the sound of you shaving The scrape of your razor The dully-abrading black hair That
tongue Mountains that breathe as long as Kipling Oh sorrow song of it all All that static air Old stream tangled hair
where you been Won't you come on home to me? Flash back patches of grass growing wild in fact Cracked walls burnt black like a kingdom sacked Memories
mustache that was fourteen inches long And the shanty master paced the deck a-roaring out a song And the man who held the tiller wore his hair down to
