These miles of dry stone wallsThat hold in ploughed fields and kingly hallsThe dead of centuries in hills of sandThe stones that bind themAre proud of what lies behind them And varied as the counties in this curious land.Pedaling into th...
These miles of dry stone wallsThat hold in ploughed fields and kingly hallsThe dead of centuries in hills of sandThe stones that bind themAre proud of what lies behind them And varied as the counties in this curious land.Pedaling into the wind and driving ran over the top of the Morfoot Hills towards Edinburgh yesterday I finally understood that the dry in this lyric does not refer to the usual
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about 2 hours ago