A lonely mans crime:
drop me north of the railway line
sink me in the sap of the hilltop pine
wrap my wrists with the baling twine
It’s just now and me, my lonely crime
Only sun, mud and Time
and the tears, bitter as lime
drips into the salt, the sweat, our brine
I wish you listened babe, when I said we’re fine
so perch low my sweet home crows
Sing come the sun, I’ll be home
beyond the lapping shores, of barley, home
nowhere, but home.
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