| Oh the little white road climbs over the hill,
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| My feet they must follow, they cannot be still,
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| Must follow and follow though far it may roam.
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| Oh little white road you will never come home.
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| Oh, the hills they are patient and steadfast and wise,
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| They look over the valleys and up to the skies,
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| But the little white road scrambles up them and over.
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| Oh, little white road you are ever the rover.
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| I fain would go with you right down to the sea
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| Where a ship with white sails would be waiting for me,
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| Go sailing and sailing to strange lands afar
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| Where deserts and forests and lost cities are.
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| But when I grew weary of my gypsying ways
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| I’d sail home again for to end all my days
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| In the little grey cottage, beside the grey hill.
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| But you, little road, would be wandering still |