| A pail in my hands I’m walking in the swamp
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| I’m searching for the cloudberries but found none
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| Velvety moss yielding under my feet
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| Upon the hummock I lay down to sleep
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| The flock of gnats keep teasing on me
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| Whining in perfect harmony
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| It shakes me awake when I hear the sound
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| Harvester’s blast when it hits the ground
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| Felling down those last old trees
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| Shattering the land with iron and steel
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| On the swamp pine is trilling the Song Thrush
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| Trilling his tune, calling her bride
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| But the echo so silent only answers
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| Still keeps on calling, calling in vain
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| I’m walking away… I’m feeling disgraced
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| I’m walking away… I’m feeling disgraced
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| But the innocent bird keeps on trilling
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| Trilling his tune, calling her bride
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| Don’t know that their nest has been brought down
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| With fire and steel, dumbed in the ground
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| Taken is your soul
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| Taken is my soul
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| Hollo — disgraced and wasted
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| Broken — is the spell of yours
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| Hollo — disgraced and wasted
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| Broken — is the spell of yours
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| I am ashamed, you — deaf and dumb
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| Wrong has been done — by me and my like
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| Hollo — disgraced and wasted
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| Broken — is the spell of yours
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| Hollo — disgraced and wasted
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| Broken — is the spell of yours
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| I’m walking away and never will return |