All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands More »

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From The Woods

From the woods, from the woods
They are coming from the woods
Riding horses cloaked in gray
Make their way, to my door
Lay their boots upon my floor
Wash their hands and start to pray
But I am gone, I am not there
I have followed mountain bears
To a cave of deepest tome
There I wait, by the mouth
As the smoke it [...]

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