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I homeless sought you under the moonlight in the woods as you comb thy black hair in the heart of moon ah they thieved the jeroboam of thy love's wine from me until I never swig the sweet poison from your hands ah I can't dirge the myth of thy love because the words die by imagine your visage ah thy love's grief had blackened me and I'll never take the light like thy moon's heart (until you comb thy black hair in my heart) From Letras Mania