William Elliott Whitmore sometimes our dreams float like anchors winter

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And the hammer swings high and comes down hard
Drive another nail into my coffin lid
And as the days go by if I can play my part
Well I'll feel no remorse for what I did
Your mother would cry if she only could
But those days are gone, those days are gone
And she always tried to see the good in everything that you done
And sometimes our dreams they float like anchors
in hopeless waters oh way down here
Sometimes it seems that all that matters most are
all the things that you can't keep
Oh, the skin, Oh, the skin
That this old world has placed me in
I can't wait to shed, I can't wait to shed
Lord I'll be free when I'm dead

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