LAST THING TO MY BRAIN. C*Tom Paxton.

He is a rate too slow for the education.
Fragment ' us of sand, fragment ' nor of sand.
Closed the eye of an eye the soul which addresses me.
To your hand, to your hand.

Are you long passage without the word good-bye?
A track will not exist that is left to the back.
Well I of you are possible will have kept better.
He has not meant that he is impolite.
Wheat what was the last thing to my brain.

Whereas we run, my ideas continue.
Circle and circle, circle and circle.
Under our feet voids of cellars.
Underground paces, cellars.

CORN!

Since I in the bed I in the morning am myself.
Without you, without u.
Each song to the udder puts me a-boning.
Without you, without u.

CORN!

Has the speeches in abundance.
This wheat I, what I know.
For tisanes he has regularly increased.
I do not request you go, I do not request you go.