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We see them on the streets at night
With downcast faces, bloodshot eyes
And never have we aught to spare
We merely can apologise

We all avoid their mournful gaze
And mumble under shallow breaths
How we regret the hand that Fate
Has dealt, regret for their cold death

And on we walk, the streets at night
That some poor souls may call their grave
Do lead us to our homes and beds
The sanctuary of the brave.

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