| she takes the back road and the lane
|
| past the school that has not changed
|
| in all this time
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| she thinks of when the boy was young
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| all the battles she had won
|
| just to give him life
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| that man
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| she loves that man
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| for all his life
|
| and now we meet to take him flowers
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| and only God knows why
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| for what’s the use in pressing palms
|
| when children fade in mother’s armes **** Missing
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| it’s a cruel world
|
| we’ve so much to lose
|
| and what we have to learn, we rarely choose
|
| so if it’s God who took her son
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| he cannot be the one living in her mind
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| take care my love, she said
|
| don’t think that God is dead
|
| take care my love, she said
|
| you have been loved
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| If I was weak, forgive me but I was terrified
|
| you brushed my eyes with angels wings, full of love
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| the kind that makes devils cry
|
| so these days
|
| my life has changed
|
| and I’ll be fine
|
| but she just sits and counts the hours
|
| searching for her crime
|
| so what’s the use in pressing palms
|
| if you won’t keep such love from harm
|
| it’s a cruel world
|
| you’ve so much to prove
|
| and heaven help the ones who wait for you
|
| well I’ve no daughters, I’ve no sons
|
| guess I’m the only one
|
| living in my life
|
| take care my love, he said *** he said / not she
|
| don’t think that God is dead
|
| take care my love, he said *** he said / not she
|
| you have been loved |