| Of war and peace the truth just twists
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| Its curfew gull just glides
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| Upon four-legged forest clouds
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| The cowboy angel rides
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| With his candle lit into the sun
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| Though its glow is waxed in black
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| All except when 'neath the trees of eden
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| The lamppost stands with folded arms
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| Its iron claws attached
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| To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
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| Though it shadows metal badge
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| All and all can only fall
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| With a crashing but meaningless blow
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| No sound ever comes from the gates of eden
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| The savage soldier sticks his head in sand
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| And then complains
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| Unto the shoeless hunter who’s gone deaf
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| But still remains
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| Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
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| At ships with tattooed sails
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| Heading for the gates of eden
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| With a time-rusted compass blade
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| Aladdin and his lamp
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| Sits with utopian hermit monks
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| Side saddle on the golden calf
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| And on their promises of paradise
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| You will not hear a laugh
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| All except inside the gates of eden
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| Relationships of ownership
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| They whisper in the wings
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| To those condemned to act accordingly
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| And wait for succeeding kings
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| And i try to harmonize with songs
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| The lonesome sparrow sings
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| There are no kings inside the gates of eden
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| The motorcycle black madonna
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| Two-wheeled gypsy queen
|
| And her silver-studded phantom cause
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| The gray flannel dwarf to scream
|
| As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
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| Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
|
| And there are no sins inside the gates of eden
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| The kingdoms of experience
|
| In the precious wind they rot
|
| While paupers change possessions
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| Each one wishing for what the other has got
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| And the princess and the prince
|
| Discuss what’s real and what is not
|
| It doesn’t matter inside the gates of eden
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| The foreign sun, it squints upon
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| A bed that is never mine
|
| As friends and other strangers
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| From their fates try to resign
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| Leaving men wholly, totally free
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| To do anything they wish to do but die
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| And there are no trials inside the gates of eden
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| At dawn my lover comes to me
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| And tells me of her dreams
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| With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
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| Into the ditch of what each one means
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| At times i think there are no words
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| But these to tell what’s true |