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Then twangling their bibles with wrath in their nostrilsFrom Bonehill Fields came Bunyan and Blake:'Laredo the golden is fallen, is fallen;Your flame shall not quench nor your thirst shall not slake.'
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It’s no go my honey love, it’s no go my poppet;Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit.The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever,But if you break the bloody glass you won’t hold up the weather.
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It’s no go the Yogi-Man, it’s no go Blavatsky,All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi.
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I am not yet born; forgive meFor the sins that in me the world shall commit, my wordsWhen they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,My treason engendered by traitors beyond me,My life when they murder by means of myHands, my death when they live me.
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Some on commission, some for the love of learning, Some because they have nothing better to do Or because they hope these walls of books will deaden The drumming of the demon in their ears.
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O early one morning I walked out like Agag,Early one morning to walk through the fireDodging the pythons that leaked on the pavementsWith tinkle of glasses and tangle of wire.
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In my own prejudice ... I would have of a poet ... whose worlds would not be too esoteric ... fond of talking ... capable of pity and laughter ... appreciative of women ... involved in personal relationships ... susceptible to physical impressions...
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Politics: distrust all parties but consider capitalism must go.