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Guitar Victims
©2003 Gibbens/Weston

We sailed south from the Cape
To the land where the song trees grow
With ice in her wings
And the world going slow
To the echo of interesting things.

Guitar victims
From the ashes of France.
Guitar victims
From classes in dance,
With a chance in our hands,
In a guitar trance.

Meanwhile back at the den
They disposed of another unknown
But at the top of the dial
The cold was outside alone,
Glancing inside like a frozen smile.

Guitar victims
Seeing more than double.
Guitar victims,
Could it really be that simple?
Gonna take a lot of trouble
In a field of burning stubble.

Pillow-talk in the temple
In the wreckage,
Wrapped in a jacket
In a package
In the baggage deposit.
But whose was it?

Guitar victims,
With your head in the clouds.
Guitar victims,
With the world on your shoulders.
Under orders:
Onward, guitar soldiers.

 

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