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I’m a district near London;
If made wrong, I come undone;
O’er sweet strings I swift run,
Or appear with the bright sun,
And though by me fights were won,
I can greet you every one.
I’m a district near London;
If made wrong, I come undone;
O’er sweet strings I swift run,
Or appear with the bright sun,
And though by me fights were won,
I can greet you every one.