"It is likely I will die next to a pile of books I was meaning to read.” -Lemony Snickett
It was a cold nightAnd the snow lay lowI pulled my coat tightAgainst the falling downAnd the sun was allAnd the sun was all downAnd the sun was allAnd the sun was all downI am a poor manI haven't wealth nor fameI have my two handsAnd a house to my nameAnd the winter's soAnd the winter's so longAnd the winter's soAnd the winter's so longAnd all the stars were crashing 'roundAs I laid eyes on what I'd foundIt was a white craneIt was a helpless thingUpon a red stainWith an arrow its wingAnd it called and criedAnd it called and cried soAnd it called and criedAnd it called and cried soAnd all the stars were crashing 'roundAs I laid eyes on what I'd foundMy crane wife, my crane wifeMy crane wife, my crane wifeNow I helped herAnd I dressed her woundsAnd how I held herBeneath the rising moonAnd she stood to flyAnd she stood to fly awayAnd she stood to flyShe stood to fly awayAnd all the stars were crashing 'roundAs I laid eyes on what I'd foundMy crane wife, my crane wifeMy crane wife, my crane wife
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