| I was born into this world on the seventh day of June
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| No sunshine broke the sky as I arrived
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| My father was a rector with a hard and heavy hand
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| My mother was thirteen and not his wife
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| She gave me to the sisters on the farthest edge of town
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| No one would be the wise or see my face
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| I became a man raised up by cemetery wolves
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| We earned our keep by digging beggar’s graves
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| I guess that’s just the way they showed me
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| The loving hand of God
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| Loving hand of God
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| When fifteen years had passed they put me out upon the stones
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| To make my way with gypsies and with thieves
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| A kindly hearted cropper took me on to till his land
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| I’d work until my fingers they did bleed
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| His daughter was a deaf and mute with kind and loving eyes
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| The color of the bluest summer sky
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| A love grew strong between us and I asked to take her hand
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| But the father said he’d sooner see her die
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| I guess that’s just the way he showed me
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| The loving hand of God
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| Loving hand of God
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| And in the spring we stole away to find a life anew
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| With pennies and our bags to make our way
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| We found work with the magistrate tending to his land
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| And happiness was born again each day
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| And in the fall I married her and summer brought a child
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| In which there was no sign of me at all
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| And when I said that son of mine did have her father’s eyes
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| She wept and said that he had come to call
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| I guess that’s just the way he showed me
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| The loving hand of God
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| Loving hand of God |