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Put me on the train, send me back to my home — Moby

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"Put me on the train, send me back to my home Couldnt live without you when I tried to roam Put me by the window, let me see outside Looking at the places where all my family died"
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Moby
Moby
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Richard Melville Hall, known professionally as Moby, is an American musician, songwriter and animal rights activist. He has sold 20 million records worldwide. AllMusic considers him to be "among the most important dance music figures of the early 1990s, helping bring dance music to a mainstream audience both in the United States and the United Kingdom".

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"I got a phone call from Ricky Martins management asking me if Id like to do something with him in Florida around the winter music conference. My answer is as follows: I would consider doing something with Ricky Martin if and only if he publicly apologizes for performing at George Ws inauguration and if he confirms that when he danced next to George W. Bush at the inauguration he could smell brimstone and that George W. Bush is in fact the spawn of Satan. So if Ricky Martin goes on national television to confirm that George W. is the spawn of Satan then I will perform with him. Otherwise no deal. And only if we can do a cover of In a Gadda-da-vida, but The Simpsons version, In the garden of Eden (to which reverend Lovejoy responds ""that sounds like rock and or roll""). And, by the way, Im a pretty easygoing young-ish person, so if you ever see me walking down the street just stop me and say hello. Were all in the same boat, right? of course youll have to make it past my phalanx of security guards who are all ex-NFL linebackers, and the cadre of dobermans, and the perma-moat that I wear thats filled with electric eels and vicious sea monkeys. So if you see me just come and say hi. Im normal."
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"Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flower Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!"
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeSamuel Taylor Coleridge