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over the river, on the hill
a mist was driving down
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
i fill this cup
good woman
sing again the song you sung
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
i am a woman
world that changes under my hand
the sun is up

 



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