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He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
Forest could keep secretsForest could keep secrets
Little toad little toad mind yourselfmind yourself let me plant my cornplant my corn to feed my horsefeed my horse to run my race – the sea is full of more than I know
Spices and gold once cast a spellOn bearded men in caravels.
New World New World cried historyOld World Old World sighed every tree.
I’ve got the Teach-them-in-the-morning-Playground-duty-Teach-them-in-the-afternoon blues.My head’s like a drum;My feet, cold and sore.I’m feeling so glum;
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.