| They danced like sirens
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| Hoping the sun would come out again
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| And I was born in the fog of that day
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| Could they hear a babe, under all that faith
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| Or have they forgot what it was they made?
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| Crawled out of the fog, found a river
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| Found a log and floated away
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| Didn’t think I’d be coming back this way
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| But my feet resolute, found their root
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| And brought me back to its place
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| And on the hill where I was born
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| There is a rose without a thorn
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| They cut it off each year and give it away
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| But can they hear a babe, after all these days
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| Or have they forgot what it was that they made?
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| So left to wander blind
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| I Find myself in cautious times, and they say
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| Love’s labors never lost
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| But labor on to this very day
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| So I walk into the fog
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| Find a babe atop a log, and all alone
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| Took him under, took him on
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| Taught him everything about the world I’ve come to know
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| He blames me for every wrong ever he made
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| I’m blamed for every wrong ever he made
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| Forgive me I am only a maid
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| Forgive me I am only a maid
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| But I can still see a babe
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| Under all that blame
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| But I am forgot from the day I am laid |