| Let me stay with you a while and tell old, old stories
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| Of your oft electric laughter and your charms
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| How you came out of Montana with a wolf pup at your heels
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| And a snow white rabbit huddled in your arms
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| In the darkness, in the darkness
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| In the darkness
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| Remember, hey, those Gold Rush days are the gold dust in the mud
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| From Main St. leading all the way to Alder
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| With sunset turned the color of a lover’s throated blush
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| And with moonrise, blazed some new and silver river
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| In the darkness, in the darkness
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| In the darkness
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| The minister was bloodless and the preachers were on fire
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| And mahātmās sang their love songs in nasturtiums
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| But if he, or they, or any of their masters called my name
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| I was in your holy temple and never heard them
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| In the darkness, in the darkness
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| In the darkness
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| Remember, hey, those Gold Rush days, some last chance ghost saloon
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| And you, and I, and all the miners watching
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| As shadows danced across a screen as quiet as the moon
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| Without sound if you’re resignifying all things
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| The whole town was alive that night as we floated down the street
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| Through fist fights, cowboy police, parlor women
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| And the light from the projector seemed to grow within your soul
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| Like an old bull-throated songbird in its prison
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| In the darkness, in the darkness
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| In the darkness
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| They’re tearing down the movies now, not a stone upon a stone
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| All dust is dust no matter how celestial
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| But I, who tasted hornet juice and honey on the rose
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| Would you survive for all their cold memorials?
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| Still every now and then sometimes when the night sky gets so bright
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| And no Bethlehem of stars could match its burning
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| I go out into the fields until I can feel you by my side
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| And my memory is a book of gold thrown open
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| And you rode a white horse, the queen of the harvest kissed your cheek
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| The boys all took one look and found that they could no longer speak
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| In the darkness, in the darkness
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| In the darkness |