| There grows a weed looks like a flower
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| Looks like baby’s breath on a mirror
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| My girl and I rushed atop the altar
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| The sacrifice was made
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| It was not easy undertaking
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| The root’s grip sucked like a living grave
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| Oh young girl at the wedding
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| Baby’s breath in her hair
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| A crowning lace above her face
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| That’ll last a day before it turns to hay
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| Good plans are made by hand
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| I’d cut a clearing in the land
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| For a little bed
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| For her to cry comfortable in
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| And each day I looked out on the lawn
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| And I wondered what all was gone
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| Until I saw it was lucky old me
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| How could I run without losing anything?
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| How could I run without becoming lean?
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| It was agreed
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| It was a greed
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| It was me tearing out the baby’s breath
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| Oh I am a helpless man
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| So help me!
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| I’m on my knees
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| Gardening
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| Trying to make the baby’s breath blow
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| It was not a weed it was a flower
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| My baby’s gone
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| Oh where has my baby gone?
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| She was not a weed she was a flower
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| And now I know you must reap what you sow
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| Or sing
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| And yes now I know you must reap what you sow
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| Or sing |