| It comes winding the creek
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| the shepherdess, her herd
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| and her tara of her, ra, ra, rá…
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| Blonde the color of wheat fields
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| and rumor of springs
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| his tara, ra, ra, ra…
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| She sings as those who dream in life sing,
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| laugh as those who have happiness laugh.
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| No one knows him any complaint,
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| he only goes with his sheep
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| and her tara of her, ra, ra, rá…
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| Who was it that stole your voice,
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| that is no longer heard,
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| alone she sees herself graze
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| that cloud of wild sheep.
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| They say that never again,
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| she will be seen around the place.
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| She has fallen to the stony
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| from where she will not return
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| because a star took her
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| where she leaves without returning.
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| She left without ever coming back
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| and she has left like a prayer
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| her tara of her, ra, ra, rá…
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| They say that she will never again be seen around the place,
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| That she has fallen to the stony place from where she will no longer return
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| Because a star took her where she leaves without returning
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| She left without ever coming back
|
| and she has left like a prayer
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| His tara of her, ra, ra, rá…
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| His tara of her, ra, ra, rá… |