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scrap book ballads vol.1 stripped filmed In London (UK) by permission of hoochie-coochie.com copyright Robert James Selby http://itunes.apple.com/gb/artist/rob... http://robertjamesselby.com/ THE BALLAD OF THOMAS CHATTERTON Packing up your paper and pens, heading across England Only seventeen with a head full of sweet dreams To you it comes naturally, but to others loves seems illegal, You shouldn't learn too rapidly, people can be evil. They'll have you pay. For the love trapped in the boy poet Now they're calling you, the boy poet. On the muddy road you tread, heading towards what's true To an anthology of poesy, you'll bring something new. But you've gotta' get down what is in your head, Before they tame the muse, Before that mighty heart stops dead and... Your lips turn black and blue. What will they say, of the love trapped in the boy poet Now they're calling you the boy poet Laid up for weeks on the verge of starvation, How could you have ever knowd you'd romance a generation Arsenic is a poison it'll burn your throat like cinders do, And how they'll all turn away and let you close the window To your soul, Forever trapping the love in the, boy poet. Now they're calling you the boy poet. No he never hardened too those that worshipped debt, But instead modern hemlock threw, the bottle down his neck And like a bird his troubles flew, From his head and his caged breast, It wasn't long till romantics knew The boy was far ahead. Their sonnets pray, for to free the love in the boy poet, Now they're calling you, the boy poet. didddily di diddily di. His words writ in the sky didn't he die, dint he fly to a mansion upon high didddily di diddily di. His words writ in the sky Didn't he die, dint he fly to a mansion upon high