| He came from the mountains to our little town
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| And he never spoke a word
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| But he played every day in a lovely way
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| Little tunes I had never heard
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| When he played his flute
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| His eyes seemed to be like mirrors of times gone by
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| I don’t know if I saw what I should not see
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| But I looked right into his heart
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| I looked right into his heart
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| I found out one evening only by chance
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| Where he spent his lonely nights
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| There he slept in the church on the marble floor
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| And his flute lay by his side
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| As I woke him up and said
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| Won’t you come to my house where it’s nice and warm
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| He said
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| Please let me be, for I am not freeAnd I don’t wanna break your heart
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| I don’t wanna break your heart
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| When early one morning I came to the place
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| Where he used to play his flute
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| He was gone
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| But a song that will never die
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| Seemed to linger on in the sky
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| He’s an Indio boy
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| And his folks
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| Far away
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| They are praying
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| Indio boy come home when you are a man
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| He’s an Indio Boy
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| And he longs for the girl who is waitinc
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| Indio Boy
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| Come home as soon as you can
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| He’s an Indio Boy till the day he will be a man |