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We've watched them leaving, seen their ragged flight |
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Children of the jungle, mothers of the night |
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A boy of ten by the roadside lies |
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Hears his future in whispers and cries |
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And clutching a tiny Buddha charm |
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A baby dies in his mother's arms |
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Is there only sorrow in Cambodia? |
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Is there no tomorrow in Cambodia? |
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Leaving the graves of your ancestors after a thousand years |
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Leaving a few belongings after a thousand tears |
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How come you never left before through bombing, famine and flood? |
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Are the rivers useless now spilling over with blood? |
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Is there only sorrow in Cambodia? |
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Is there no tomorrow in Cambodia? |
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I hear there are very few children from ages one to five |
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It takes more than jungle leaves to keep the young ones alive |
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I hear some of the rice got through the outside's trying to send to you |
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There you sit in the ruins of war, the doctors are waiting at your door |
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And we will try and feed you, try and go to you |
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People of Kampuchea, Cambodia |
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A little way in from the border in the crowded camps |
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I've seen mothers giving birth, seen beautiful orphans dance |
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An old man turns and covers his eyes, he was never supposed to cry |
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With sons and daughters and home and wife |
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Taken from him in his autumn life |
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Should we try and feed you, say hello to you |
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Old man of Kampuchea, Kampuchea, Cambodia |
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Call another conference, write another song |
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Deliver another ton of rice and hope it gets where it belongs |
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And rival teams of bandits are really the only choice |
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Even if the people had their bellies filled, even if the people had a voice |
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And meanwhile, lovers are caught in the crossfire |
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Children are caught in the barbed wire |
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Military sinks in the mire |
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Let me show it to you |
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Is there only sorrow, only sorrow in Cambodia? |
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Is there no tomorrow, no tomorrow in Cambodia? |
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Still we'll try and feed you, try and show to you |
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People of Kampuchea, Kampuchea, Cambodia |