White chalk hills are all I've known White chalk hills will rot my bones White chalk sticking to my shoes White chalk playing as a child with you.
White chalk south against time White chalk cutting down the sea at Lyme I walk the valleys by the Cerne, on a path cut fifteen hundred years ago,
and I know, these chalk hills will rot my bones.
Dorset's cliffs meet at the sea, where I walked, our unborn child in me. White chalk, gorse-scattered land, scratched my palms, theres blood on my hands.
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