| Leaves are falling, the wolves are calling
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| And death goes with them
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| The light is waning the night will reign o’er me
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| But in the heart of the deepest dark
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| The light is shining
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| I lift my head from my dying bed and sing
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| The lunatics with the fire-sticks
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| And the deadly rhythm
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| They reprimand us with reckless savagery
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| But in the midst of apocalypse
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| The dove brings tidings
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| I lift my eyes to the azure skies and sing
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| We’re so surprised when we realize that
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| We’re deftly skilled in
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| The very vices we swear off violently
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| Still at the crux of the worst in us
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| Hope is hiding
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| I lift my gaze from my wicked ways and sing
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
|
| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see
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| Oh, what beautiful things I see |