| There’s an ancient place, it’s a city of grace
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| Where I lived as in a dream
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| Where the elders prayed and the children played
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| By the mountainside and stream
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| As I waved goodbye from the riverside
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| It was too much to take in I could see the place, and imagine the face
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| Of the young Tibetan God-King
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| It’s a bad old wind, should no good begin
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| From a hurt that has been done
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| When the line was crossed and the land was lost
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| Oh, the holy exiled ones
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| As I waved goodbye from the riverside
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| It was too much to take in I could see the place, and imagine the face
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| Of the young Tibetan God-King
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| I can hear the cry of the geese that fly
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| Between the mountain and the moon
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| And the flags that blow in Himalayan snow
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| Are carried like a haunting tune
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| As I waved goodbye from the riverside
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| It was too much to take in I could see the place, and imagine the face
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| Of the young Tibetan God-King |