ballad of francis alabadalejo

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    1. Magna Carta qrupunun Times Of Change albomundan şirinmi şirin bi mahnı
    Chris simpsonun inanılmaz vokalı və akustik gitarları folk-prog havsını əla yansıdır.
    dinləmək istəyənə:
    (youtube: )

    Francis Alabadalejo woke up one morning and
    prayed to the virgin that hung on the wall
    with eyes full of pleading and knees a door knocking,
    he told her the dream that had left him in terror
    something that couldn't be reasoned at all

    "I saw me a woman, her eyes they were smiling,
    her lips were on fire, her tongue was ice
    she beckoned me on, with a finger of bones,
    her flesh was of leather and not very nice

    he woke up in fear and sweat beads were gleaming and
    knew in his heart that something was wrong but the
    virgin smiled down with eyes of compassion he
    left feeling better and second to none

    Francis Alabadalejo is smiling
    Francis Alabadalejo is laughing
    Francis Alabadalejo feels second to none

    So he came to the hospital, where he was working and
    put on his coat of a hessian brown
    the minutes were spinning, until it was tea time
    resting his feet on a chair in the corner
    smoking and passing the papers around

    young men and maidens, old men and children
    babies in arms and arms hung in slings

    old ladies for x-ray, for medicine and massage, to
    name but afew of their favourite things
    the noise of the hospital rolling about him,
    the synthetic hiss, of rubber shod wheels
    the batter of doors and the murmer of voices and
    nobody knows how the next person feels Francis Alabadalejo is smiling
    Francis Alabadalejo is laughing
    Francis Alabadalejo feels second to none

    Said the path lab to Francis, go get you a barrow and
    carry this package to where we shall say and
    he spied a long parcel all tied up in brown paper
    nothing to look at and then not even thinking
    he loaded his barrow and pushed it away

    rounding the corner the barrow wheel tilted the
    cold eyes were gleaming and Francis was running
    filling the air with the sound of his screaming, and
    stretched on the ground an assortment of pieces, the
    face in the nightmare, when he had been sleeping, lay
    lifelessly gazing blue eyed at the sky

    Francis Alabadalejo is running
    Francis Alabadalejo is flying
    Francis Alabadalejo will never return

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