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When the shrill winds are screaming |
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And the evening is still |
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Lady Samantha glides over the hill |
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In a long satin dress that she wears every day |
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Her home is the hillside, her bed is the grave |
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Lady Samantha glides like a tiger |
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Over the hills with no one beside her |
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No one comes near |
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They all live in fear |
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But Lady Samantha, she sheds only tears |
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The tales that I told round the fire every night |
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Are out of proportion and none of them right |
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She is harmless and empty of anything bad |
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For she once had something that most of you have |