| I travel down this lonely road
|
| To see if I can pick me a rose
|
| But all I find is a handful of thorns
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| In a place where blossoms should grow
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| Some hearts are made of stone
|
| Some are cold, made of ice
|
| Some beat all alone
|
| Then there’s those made of steel
|
| Ones that don’t even feel
|
| Where are those hearts
|
| Those hearts made of gold
|
| I wandered down this lonely trail
|
| Some twenty seven hours a day
|
| But all I see are prints in the dirt
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| Where others tried to find their way
|
| Some hearts are made of stone
|
| Some are cold, made of ice
|
| Some beat all alone
|
| Then there’s those made of steel
|
| Ones that don’t even feel
|
| Where are those hearts
|
| Those hearts made of gold
|
| How far will I go
|
| To leave these fears behind
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| Oh, let those tears go dry
|
| Yeah, won’t stop until I can find
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| Oh, that heart of gold
|
| Some hearts are made of stone
|
| Some are cold, made of ice
|
| Some beat all alone
|
| Then there’s those made of steel
|
| Ones that don’t even feel
|
| Where are those hearts
|
| Those hearts made of gold |