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She was just a blue eyed Boston girl |
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Her voice was low with pain |
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I'll do your bidding comrade mine |
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If I ride back again |
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But if you ride back and I am dead |
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You'll do as much for me |
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Mother, you know, must hear the news |
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So write her tenderly |
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She's awaiting at home like a patient saint |
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Her fallen face paled with woe |
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Her heart would be broken when I am gone |
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I'll see her soon, I know |
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Just then the order came to charge |
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For an instant hand touched hand |
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They said, aye and away they rode |
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That brave and devoted band |
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Straight was the course to the top of the hill |
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And the rebels they shot and shelled |
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Plowed furrows of death through the toiling ranks |
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And guarded them as they fell |
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There soon was a horrible dying yell |
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From heights that they could not gain |
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And those who doom and death had spared |
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Rode slowly back again |
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But among the dead that were left on the hill |
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Was the girl with the curly hair |
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The tall dark man who'd fought by her side |
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Lay dead beside her there |
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There was was no one to write the green-eyed girl |
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The words that her lover had said |
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While mother at home is awaiting her girl |
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She'll only know she is dead |
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She'll only know she's dead |
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She'll only know she's dead |