| We carried you in our arms
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| On Independence Day,
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| And now you’d throw us all aside
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| And put us on our way.
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| Oh what dear daughter 'neath the sun
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| Would treat a father so,
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| To wait upon him hand and foot
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| And always tell him, «No»?
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| Tears of rage, tears of grief,
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| Why must I always be the thief?
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| Come to me now, you know
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| We’re so alone
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| And life is brief.
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| We pointed out the way to go And scratched your name in sand,
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| Though you just thought it was nothing more
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| Than a place for you to stand.
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| Now, I want you to know that while we watched,
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| You discover there was no one true.
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| Most ev’rybody really thought
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| It was a childish thing to do.
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| Tears of rage, tears of grief,
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| Must I always be the thief?
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| Come to me now, you know
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| We’re so low
|
| And life is brief.
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| It was all very painless
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| When you went out to receive
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| All that false instruction
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| Which we never could believe.
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| And now the heart is filled with gold
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| As if it was a purse.
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| But, oh, what kind of love is this
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| Which goes from bad to worse?
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| Tears of rage, tears of grief,
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| Must I always be the thief?
|
| Come to me now, you know
|
| We’re so low
|
| And life is brief. |