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Deacon Blue And Ricky Ross
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Orphans
I now describe my country
As if to strangers
This train is full of songs
Of local winners
And the wind surrounds the towers
And the flags they are blowing
And the bunting and the distance
Stretches over our sound
And when he teases the children
He calls them orphans
And he cries for all the flowers
Of the forest
In his head there is no reason
To be sad about the garden
But his heart bleeds very often
For things forgotten like little orphans
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