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these old bones this torn skin
the bleeding fingers a life of sin
grains of gold dust sparkling bits of rust
the prize they crave land opened like a grave
chorus:
its gold in the streams that brought them here
aluvial dreams of southern cheer
the sleep you get in this damp bivouac
is cold dreams of naught
and southern discomfort
a curse on these hills numbing cold that kills
dark lonely night a fortune in your sight
grains of gold dust sparkling bits of rust
the prize they crave land opened like a grave
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