| Oh my father voice
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| Was a very special thing
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| And when I went to sleep
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| I knew I’d wake to hear him sing
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| Every morning, he’d warm up
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| There was hope that it would bring
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| In the joy in his face
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| When he reached that haloed place
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| So I made my choice
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| I chose my father’s voice
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| On my father’s voice
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| Was a very healing thing
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| And in our house of mirrors
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| There was safety it would bring
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| And the clouds above my bedroom
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| Would part, and show me spring
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| And my pride reached it’s fill
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| And my sadness lost it’s will
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| And I had no choice
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| But to choose my father’s voice
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| Oh my father’s voice
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| Is still a very special thing
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| But he doesn’t seem to understand
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| The pleasure that it brings
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| To my friends, who love to hear him
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| When he sings old xmas hymns
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| And I’m proud and I’m pleased
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| That thru him, they must see me
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| I’m the acorn, he’s the oak
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| Heart strung girl, heartfelt bloke |