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Bread and Bones – © Richard Ruane 2004 Bread and bones, but a little too cold Rusty knife got a little too old Rusty knife won against a gun Turned my heels and away I run
Away I run, but I should have stayed Should have talked and not run away Ran myself right out of time They caught me down by the borderline
The borderline all fog and rain Rocks and stone on a cold hard plain Hurt my feet to walk a mile Took me back to stand my trial
Stood my trial, but a little too bold Justice blind to the truth I told They heard the truth, but would not believe No sympathy did I receive.
No sympathy that I deserve Bread and bones and a cold hard nerve Bread and bones, soon a little too cold No one to mourn, no one to hold
No one to hold or be held to No one to tell my secrets to Let secrets pass and fall away Bread and bones in cold hard clay
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