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Late in the evening when the gloamin' comes down |
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It's deep in the country |
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I'll be When all the wild creatures and all sensible men |
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Are seekin' their beds |
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I'll roam free. |
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Where the wild salmon spring through a peat water ring |
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And the blackbird and the thrush ring a jig from each tree |
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Some contentment |
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I'll find with the town far behind |
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For my heart, it belongs to she. |
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And who could have blamed her, she married so young |
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And what of this world did she see? |
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Naught but pots and of pans and a hard drinking man |
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Being a wife and a mother of three. |
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And who could have blamed her when passion's wild flame |
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And the young man with money one day replaced me? |
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Being a fool from the start, now |
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I've paid with my heart |
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For my heart, it belongs to she. |
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If I pass a cottage and a family within |
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Its light and its warmth leave me cold. |
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And if I pass a young girl who catches my eye |
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Her youth and her hope leave me old. |
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And who could have blamed her when all else had failed |
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Whose hopes and whose dreams were no interest to me? |
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Being a fool from the start, now |
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I've paid with my heart |
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For my heart, it belongs to she. |