| I walk the streets of Dublin town
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| It’s 1842
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| It’s snowing on this Christmas Eve
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| Think I’ll beg another bob or two
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| I’ll huddle in this doorway here
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| Till someone comes along
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| If the lamp lighter comes real soon
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| Maybe I’ll go home with him.
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| Maybe I can find a place I can call my home
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| Maybe I can find a home I can call my own
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| The horses on the cobbled stones pass by Think I’ll get one one fine day
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| And ride into the country side
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| And very far away
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| But now as the daylight disappears
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| I best find a place to sleep
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| Think I’ll slip into the bell tower
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| In the church just down the street
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| Maybe on the way I’ll find the dog
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| I saw the other night
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| And tuck him underneath my jacket,
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| So we’ll stay warm through the night
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| As we lie in the bell tower high
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| And dream of days to come
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| The bells o’er head will call the hour
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| The day we will find a home. |