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"Purple Angel"

I was born to live in Devon,
Where the grass is blessed with green,
There men would stand together as a mountain would stand,
And death was always clean,
But no one saw the 'Purple Angel' standing by unseen.

Four men and I had seen it,
Its eyes turned round in terror crying to me with outstretched arms,
To its knees it fell to me,
The filthy creature could not speak but fought to make me see.

The arm of William Grady pushed the creature to the ground,
The air became like ice and from dust he screamed you're dead, dead!'
His blood stained finger pointed home, the sky above was red.

Four men and I stood looking homeward,
William Grady turned cold as he stood,
What man would ask for peace in his life,
And never gain it with the spilling of his blood?

My eyes befell the creature,
His eyes a mask of pain,
Watching after Grady,
Ran screaming through the rain.

His eyes ran through the valley,
Where the grass was blessed with green,
But he saw no wheat, no corn, no sheep, no way of life,
Where Satans' wrath had been,
His mind forgot the 'Purple Angel' standing by unseen.

The home that he was born in,
And the morning of his day,
Now kissed the black earth and the wind which had given death, to life,
Took hold of the ashes and in sympathy blew them away,
As a statue Grady watched the sky, his sunburned face was grey.

He then saw 'Sparky's body,
Laid crumpled on the ground,
They had rarely left each others side,
Since the starving dog was found.

Now Grady knew the reason,
And cried, his mind was numb,
What war was this man fighting?
What sin had this man done?
But the dead little puppy, wrapped deep in his coat,
Would have driven the mind of anyone.

"Too Many Too Few"

So this is the life in a world full of kings,
Protected by eagles with great golden wings,
So how can we know what is right, what is true,
With the liars too many, the honest too few.

So this is the blind man in a place full of night,
Protected by those who are grateful for light,
So how can we learn what is right, what is true,
With the lonely too many, the happy too few.

So these are the people, the young and the old,
Creating their blankets to keep out the cold,
So how can we know what is right, what is true,
With the evil too many, the lovers too few.



Gibb Service International