| When he was riding through the old Romanian town
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| Heading to the East, he had to stop 'till dawn…
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| He had to stop' till dawn…
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| Late it was, he took water from a well
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| Glittering and cold, water quenched his thirst…
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| But, that old well was dry…
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| And the moon was shining bright
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| Scattered sparkles rounded the well
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| Sound of a distant flute he heard
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| His horse ran away…
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| Suddenly, some children all in white
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| Made a ring around him, whispering:
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| He, who drinks the water from the well
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| Falls into her embrace, tells the tale…
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| As the eyes are windows to the soul
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| Through his gaze she’ll know it all…
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| No one ever heard a word of him
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| Some tale says his soul still lingers thirsty…
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| And if you’re riding
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| Through some old Romanian town on your road to East
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| You should never stop before the dawn…
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| Never stop before the dawn… |