| She slipped off softly in the early morning rain
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| Up on a hillside for a place to hide her pain
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| Breaking the cobwebs from the branches of the pine
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| Asking forgiveness for me and my short time
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| And did it rain, and did it rain
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| And is there a such place called empty
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| And did it rain, and did it rain
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| And is there such place called time left on your mind
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| I know the writer of the song she sadly sings
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| She rides a pony and her cape flies in the wind
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| Checking the dew-drops on the branches of the corn
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| She rides to keep her strange appointment with the dawn
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| And did it rain, and did it rain
|
| And is there a such place called empty
|
| And did it rain, and did it rain
|
| And is there such place called time left on your mind
|
| And did it rain, and it rain
|
| And is there a such place called empty
|
| And did it rain, and did rain
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| And is there such place called time that’s on your mind |