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The Dark Side of The Sun
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The Drabble Ditch I've never been able to pin-point when
soldiers are done and become free men.
There's blood in your eyes and smoke in your heart
and a thought in your mind, that hatred's an art.
As the world goes on by in a tickety boo,
your soul clouds your sight to a cynicle view.
But there's one little secret you already know:
The helpless and heartless put on a good show.
