To the Woods? . . . . . . .
No, not to the woods.
To the Woods?
No, NOT to the woods . . . . . . . .
To the Woods?
To the woods . . . . . . . . .
Syd in the Woods
Pow R Toch H
Lucifer Sam
Chapter 24
Bike
The Scarecrow
Arnold Layne
See Emily Play
Sorrow
The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the landPlumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden skyA man lies and dreams of green fields and riversBut awakes to a morning with no reason for wakingHe's haunted by the memory of a lost paradiseIn his youth or a dream, he can't be preciseHe's chained forever to a world that's departedIt's not enough, it's not enoughHis blood has frozen and curdled with frightHis knees have trembled and given way in the nightHis hand has weakened at the moment of truthHis step has falteredOne world, one soulTime pass, the river rollAnd he talks to the river of lost love and dedicationAnd silent replies that swirl invitationFlow dark and troubled to an oily seaA grim intimation of what is to beThere's an unceasing wind that blows through this nightAnd there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sightAnd silence that speaks so much louder than wordsOf promises broken
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