| Oh where have you been, my blue eyed son?
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| Where have you been, my darling young one?
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| I´ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
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| Walked and I´ve crawled on six crooked highways
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| Stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
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| Been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
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| I´ve been ten thousand miles in mouth of a graveyard
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| And it´s a hard rain´s a-gonna fall
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| And what did you see, my blue eyed son?
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| What did you see, my darling young one?
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| I saw a new-born baby with wild wolves around it I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
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| I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin´
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| I saw a room full of men with their hammers a bleedin´
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| A white ladder all covered with water
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| I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
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| I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
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| And it´s a hard rain´s a-gonna fall
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| And what did you hear, my blue eyed son?
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| What did you hear, my darling young one
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| I heard the sound of thunder that roared out a warning
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| Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
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| Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a blazin´
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| Heard ten thousand whisperin´ and nobody listenin´
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| Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin´
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| Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
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| Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
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| And it´s a hard rain´s a-gonna fall
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| Oh who you did meet, my blue eyed son?
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| Who did you meet, my darling young one?
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| I met a young child beside a dead pony
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| I met a white man who walked a black dog
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| I met a young woman whose body was burning
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| A young girl, she gave me a rainbow
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| I met one man who was wounded in love
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| Another man who was wounded with hatred
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| And it´s a hard rain´s a-gonna fall
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| Oh what’ll you do now, my blue eyed son?
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| What’ll you do now, my darling young one?
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| I’m goin´ back out ´fore the rain starts a-fallin´
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| Walk throught the depths of the deepest black forest
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| Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
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| Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
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| Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
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| Where the executioners face is always well hidden
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| Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
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| Where black is the colour, and none is the number
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| And I´ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it And reflect it from the mountains so all souls can see it Then I´ll stand in the ocean until I start sinking
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| But I´ll know my song well before I start singing
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| And it´s a hard rain´s a-gonna fall |