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Copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
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When the world is laid
waste,
And its celebrants are cinders,
And its clothes ashes;
When it is once again a dead rock,
Like the rock that encircles it,
Its dust open to the poisonous wind;
When we have wrought what we've wrought
And done what we've done,
And there is no one left to look back in sorrow or anger:
Ah, then, what a song will never be
sung!
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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