| A blizzard walks across the field in a clean,
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| In a wagon, a young coachman:
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| Ah, mistress, my horses have lost their way,
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| Cover yourself with fur.
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| Ah, mistress, my horses have lost their way,
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| Cover yourself with fur.
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| And the wind-robber over zero is whistling all the time,
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| And a lady of about twenty.
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| Calling the coachman to move closer,
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| Until there is a way.
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| Why are you hot, why are you beautiful,
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| My husband is not like you.
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| And with him I will never be happy,
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| It would be better right under the knife.
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| Losing.
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| The blizzard married hot lips,
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| And vows to the grave in love.
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| We will leave here together with you
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| And we will perish beyond the edge of the earth.
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| We will leave here together with you
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| And we will perish beyond the edge of the earth.
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| But a year has passed, and in the master's chambers
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| The lady is growing a boy.
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| And from afar, looking at someone else's happiness,
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| The coachman silently pours bitter.
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| And from afar, looking at someone else's happiness,
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| The coachman silently pours bitter.
|
| A blizzard walks across the field in a clean,
|
| In a wagon, a young coachman:
|
| Ah, mistress, my horses have lost their way,
|
| Cover yourself with fur.
|
| Ah, mistress, my horses have lost their way,
|
| Cover yourself with fur. |