| She has no fear of failure, she’s not bent with broken dreams
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| For the future’s just beginning when you’re always seventeen
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| It was nineteen sixty-one when we went to Washington;
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| She put her arms around me and said, «Camelot's begun.»
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| We listened to his visions of how our land should be;
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| We gave him our hearts and minds to send across the sea
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| Nineteen sixty-three, white and black upon the land;
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| She brought me to the monuments and made us all join hands
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| And scarcely six months later she held me through the night
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| When we heard what had happened in that brutal Dallas light
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| Oh, she is always seventeen;
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| She has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow
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| There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
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| She’s our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow
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| Oh, truly she’s the only hope I’ve seen, and she is always seventeen
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| It was nineteen sixty-five and we were marching once more
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| From the burning cities against a crazy war
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| Memphis, L.A. and Chicago we bled through sixty-eight
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| Till she took me up to Woodstock saying with love it’s not too late
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| We started out the seventies living off the land;
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| She was sowing seeds in Denver trying to make me understand
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| That mankind is woman and woman is man
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| And until we free each other we cannot free the land
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| Oh, she is always seventeen;
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| She has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow
|
| There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
|
| She’s our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow
|
| Oh, truly she’s the only hope I’ve seen, and she is always seventeen
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| Nineteen seventy-two, I’m at the end of my rope
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| But she was picketing the White House chanting
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| «The truth’s the only hope.»
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| In nineteen seventy-five when the crooked king was gone
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| She was feeding starving children saying the dream must go on
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| She is always seventeen;
|
| She has a dream that she will lend us and a love that we can borrow
|
| There is so much joy inside her she will even share her sorrow;
|
| She’s our past, our present, and our promise of tomorrow
|
| Oh, truly she’s the only hope I’ve seen, and she is always seventeen |