paroles de chanson Sir Francis Bacon At The Net - Cowboy Junkies
Merciless
nature,
human
and
mother
walk
this
land
Each
through
the
arm
of
the
other
Their
tithe
they
count
in
millions
In
a
Land
that
loves
its
villains
So
calculating
it
parses
a
man
Between
the
hand
that
held
the
dream
And
the
sword
being
held
by
the
hand
Their
golden
frames
hang
gleaming
Tangled
bones
of
their
crimes
bleaching
Their
golden
frames
hang
gleaming
Bleaching
bones
of
their
crimes
tangling
There
he
stands
a
mere
mist
of
a
thing
Waiting
his
turn
to
challenge
the
King
He
counts
his
time
in
centuries
He
lives
on
the
smallest
of
mercies
He
counts
his
time
in
centuries
As
the
map
is
unrolled
the
dagger
comes
out
And
that
which
was
certain
will
now
end
in
doubt
Thank
you
Sir
Francis
Bacon
Another
piece
of
advice
not
taken
Thank
you
Sir
Francis
Bacon
Another
piece
of
advice
not
taken
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