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Men worked all day to sell me death
And chain me to their time
So I took a sheep and began to climb
To my own heart and breath
This must be the last good place
The smoke can't rise so high
I might be content to die
Wearing a weathered face
The song of the hills will break someday
For the laugh of a businessman
And the mad dogs will catch me if they can
When my sheep are gone away.
