| Well there’s a cross on the hill where the ragweed has grown
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| Where a mother’s young son sleeps all alone
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| All for the land that he dreamed he could save
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| Yeah, there’s none so beautiful as the brave
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| Oh, there’s a stone in the meadow with all the weight of the world
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| Where the flowers are watered by the brown eyes of a girl
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| She cries for the life that her one true love gave
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| Yeah, there’s none so beautiful as the brave
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| None so beautiful as the boy who cries freedom
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| None so beautiful as the voice that carries far
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| None so strong as love beyond all reason that fears no evil
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| Undaunted by the dark or any wicked man’s heart
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| Oh there’s a cross on a hill where no steeple bells ring
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| A shrine with no name where little children sing to the rhythm that rocks us
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| From the cradle to the grave
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| Yeah, there’s none so beautiful
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| Oh, there’s none so beautiful
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| Oh, there’s none so beautiful as the brave
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| There’s none so beautiful as the brave |