Lion
Peter Wolf Crier
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Winter's come, you say you're leaving
It does not make much
Sense now that you're gone
But I could risk a sorry
As a fool would not be so hearty
And maybe I could be your lion
One who forsees you walking out
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Spring had come, you say you owe me
It does not make much
Sense to act full grown
And clouds became but parted
A return to where things started
As maybe I could be your lion
One who retreats when called upon again