They call you ignorant When once they sang your praise Pure and perfect they once named you Without blemish, stain or spot Full of hope and truth and purest light I still hold you in high regard Youth, who stands in the storm Child, who questions the emperor Babe, who loves the world I'll no blade of sun to your throat bring To sully snow-white skin Ignore for now the truth That lies in deepest red
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This work is Copyright (c) Mike Fletcher 2006