| She was born in Finland in l914
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| Then she came to America, to the town of Aberdeen
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| Where the logging was good, and the timber boss, king
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| And beware to those who oppose them
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| In this Washington town Laura lived, and she grew
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| To a seeker of justice, there was much work to do
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| And she married Dick Law, a trade unionist who
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| Some called commie, a red, and a traitor
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| For in Grays Harbor County a war was declared
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| Between bosses and labor, and any who dared
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| Take a stand were called fascists or commies,
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| And fear was the one thing the town held in common
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| Laura’s neighbor recalled the sweet smile in her voice
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| As she talked of her son, her three-year-old boy
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| How she organized marches of the unemployed
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| To the steps of the city hall
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| The reporter then asked, «But was she a red?»
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| «She cared little for politics», her neighbor said
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| «She just thought that the poor folks should have enough bread
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| No she wasn’t a red, just a Baptist»
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| In nineteen and forty, a cold winter’s night
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| Laura sat with her needlework next to the light |
| When a shadow fell over the linen so white
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| And terror and death filled the room
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| Her mother found Laura, her screams filled the air
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| As she held her child’s body, once gentle and fair
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| With papers all scattered, and blood everywhere
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| «My God, what has happened here?»
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| Who killed Laura Law — our ally, our friend?
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| Some blamed fascists or reds, no one knew in the end
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| When suspicion and hatred are sown to the wind
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| The harvest is riot and murder
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| In Aberdeen town the house still remains
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| All faded and still in the cool, cleansing rain
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| Some walk by, and remember the grief, and the shame
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| And still wonder who killed Laura Law?
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| Repeat verse 1 |