astral weeks.

oh sweet thing, sweet thing
my my my my my sweet thing
and i shall drive my chariot
down your streets and cry
‘hey, it’s me, i’m dynamite
and i don’t know why’
and you shall take me strongly
into your loving arms again
and i will not remember
that i even felt the pain.
we shall walk and talk
in gardens all misty and wet with rain
and i will never never never
grow so old again.

-van morrison

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