| There’s a wall in Washington
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| And it’s made of cold black granite
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| They say 60,000 names are etched there in it
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| In that wall in Washington
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| A father, he travelled from far away
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| To walk the path until he finds that name
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| He reaches his hand up and traces each letter
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| The tears they fall as his memories gather
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| For the boy who filled his heart with pride
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| Is now but a name that’s been etched
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| In the side of this wall in Washington
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| A mother she travelled from far away
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| To walk the path until she finds that name
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| She reaches her hand up and traces each letter
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| The tears they fall as her memories gather
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| She feels the baby at her breast
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| But her heart it breaks because all that is left
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| Is this wall in Washington
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| A boy, he travelled from far away
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| To walk the path until he finds that name
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| He reaches his hand up and traces each letter
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| He stares at the name of his unknown father
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| His heart is young and it’s filled with pain
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| In anger he cries out
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| «Who is to blame for this wall in Washington
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| That’s made of cold black granite?
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| Why is my father’s name etched here in it
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| In this wall in Washington?» |