| Fell in love with a poet
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| And the songs he sang made life so warm and fine
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| Loving him was all I did and he filled my soul with sweet songs all the time
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| He sang of places where we’d been
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| Of truth, and love, and me
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| Then one day he wrote a song
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| That talked of being free
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| And he was gone, but the songs he sang for me made love live on
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| And he was gone, but the songs he sang for me made love live on
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| Never sure what made him go, guess the poet had a restless kind of mind
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| Searching all around the sun for a peace and truth that many never find
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| He sang of places where we’d been
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| Of truth, and love, and me
|
| Then one day he wrote a song
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| That talked of being free
|
| And he was gone, but the songs he sang for me made love live on
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| And he was gone, but the songs he sang for me made love live on
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| And he was gone |