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Terminus
by
Ralph McTell
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Finally the moment's Come and here we stand And all the words have gone Along with all the plans And though the hands Are surely moving on the clock For us, this moment Time itself has stopped Our early-morning eyes Still feel a little sore And bodies sweetly aching From the night before I can feel The cold platform through my shoes There must be something to be said But what's the use? The wind picks up some paper Blows it past our feet We watch it grateful That our eyes don't have to meet A screaming whistle rips the air And takes away The last seconds we have shared
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