I have the curse of verse
And art in every vein
And no sweet song
To spend it on
Life is so very plain
Where an ancient mariner
When you have need of him?
Where a host of daffodils
That nod their heads in spring?
Where the stately raven
Of saintly days of yore?
Where a country churchyard?
Nevermore, nevermore
I have a camera
And no-one to point it at
Now tell me true
I'm asking you
What do you make of that?
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