| When I was just three my father left to fight
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| I remember his eyes looking at me
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| When would he come home?
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| I asked my mother
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| She’d always tell me «soon»
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| But one year followed the other
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| Candlelight casts shadows on the wall
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| Dark of night, footsteps in the hall
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| He’ll come home, hold on to his memory
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| All I know is I feel his blood inside of me
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| He’ll come home, like a lonesome bird that flies
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| In my dreams I see my father’s eyes
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| They stopped saying his name
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| Mother took a lover
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| But I never gave up hope
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| Of seeing my father
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| I never let them see
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| The tears I held inside
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| I have my father’s eyes
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| I have my father’s pride
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| Someday soon, tomorrow or today
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| The full moon will light his way
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| He’ll come home, hold on to his memory
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| All I know is I feel his blood inside of me
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| He’ll come home, like a lonesome bird that flies
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| In my dreams I see my father’s eyes
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| He’d lift me up so I could see the world go by
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| He’d kiss my tears away whenever I would cry
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| He’d always tell me that I was his little dove
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| But he never said goodbye
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| And I still feel his love |