| Snow is falling, snow is falling on the ground,
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| In the forest, in the forest there’s no sound;
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| A shallow grave is where we lie,
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| The boys and men who died,
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| And snow is falling on the ground,
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| And we are calling to be found;
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| And the seasons, and the seasons come and go,
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| In the springtime, birds will sing and flowers grow,
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| At summer’s end, the autumn breeze,
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| Will whisper through the trees,
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| And leaves are falling on the ground,
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| And we are calling to be found;
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| And in our homes, so many tears,
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| They don’t know where we have gone,
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| And snow is falling on the ground,
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| And we are calling to be found,
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| We are calling to be found… |