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Far From This Land

From this Land he never could drive to there by car
Oh pity the old bloke from home he lives far
He never will see the old mountain again
Or hear the robin sing in the wind and the rain.

'Twould seem that his remains are destined to lay
Far from the place where he first saw light of day
Far from the old fields that he loved as a boy
The great lust for life he no longer enjoy.

The wanderlust in him when he was nineteen
In Spring when the old valley looked lush and green
He left the old homeplace for a distant shore
His parents house by the river to see never more.

On how long he has to live the reaper will decide
But with a terminal illness time is not on his side
He lay on a hospice bed waiting to die
The end too will come one day to you and to i.

Far from the quiet grove where the wild chaffinch sing
In this far southern Land he has lived his last Spring
In the nearby park he can hear the pee wee
And the clock by his bed it ticks on tirelessly.

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