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(Eco9R)
prisoners here-of our own device
Please bring me my wine--
He said
On a dark desert highway
cool wind in my hair
We haven't had that spirit here
Warm smell of colitas
rising up through the air
And in the master's chambers
since nineteen sixty-nine
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
And still those voices are
My head grew heavy
and my sight grew dim
