Saturday, August 9, 2014

The Borough Mill

I'm chained to a wounded gun again,
I'm firing blood on blood,
Lost among the empty spills,
With a hound of hell in love.

A saviour on the picket line,
Souls do crack and tears will roll,
The odious sweat of the Borough Mill,
So this time will take its toll.

I'm far away,
I'm too far away,
To have the tide and turn

I'm far away,
I'm too far away,
To rush the day and learn,
To rush the day and learn.

As Edna plays the serenade,
She's f aded to a black and tan,
The coal draws black on chimney spires,
For all those working men.

She lost her love on old red brick,
From spitting up iron lungs,
She's chained to a wounded gun again,
And her boys they were oh so young.

She's far Away,
She's too far away,
To have the tide and turn

She's far away,
She's too far away,
To rush the day and learn,
To rush the day and learn

She's far away,
She's too far away,
To have the tide and turn

She's far away,
She's too far away,
To rush the day and learn,
To rush the day and learn,
To rush the day and learn


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