| The boy only wanted to give mother something
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| And all of her roses had bloomed
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| Looking at him as he came rushing in with them
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| Knowing her roses were doomed…
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| All she could see were the thorns buried deep
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| With tears in his eyes as she tended his wounds
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| But she knew it was love
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| It was one she could understand
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| He was showing his love
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| And that’s how he hurt his hand.
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| He still remembers that night as a child
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| On his mother’s knee
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| Holding him close as she opened her Bible
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| And quietly started to read
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| Then seeing a picture of Jesus he cried out
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| «Mama, he’s got some scars just like me!»
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| And they knew it was love
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| It was one they could understand
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| He was showing his love
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| And that’s how he hurt his hand
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| Now the boy’s grown and moved out on his own
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| When Uncle Sam comes along
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| A foreign affair, but our young men were there
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| And luck had his number drawn
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| It wasn’t that long till our hero was gone
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| He gave to a friend what he learned from the cross
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| And they knew it was love
|
| It was one they could understand
|
| He was showing his love
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| And that’s how he hurt his hand |