Oh what unquiet things
of this doth bring
you waken our slumber from the hill
.
You know not hither
just where you lay
blood of our brothers and fathers
has long since spilled
.
Oh how you will struggle for slumber
as we have for ours
we will cradle you in sound
well beyond the morning hours
.
Sleep then, If you will
through the train's
slow
grind
through the hills
.
Sleep then, if you will
through the marching
iron
war
elephants
.
Sleep then, if you will
through the echoing
voices
barking
your imagination
.
Oh how we will haunt thee
Sleep when you leave
.
.
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