| Many’s the hour I’ve lain by my window
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| and thought of the people who carried the burden
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| Who marched in the strange fields in search of an answers
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| And ended their journeys an unwilling hero
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| Here’s a song to those who are gone with never a reason why
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| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
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| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
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| Back in the coal fields of old Harlan county
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| Some talked of the union, some talked of good wages
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| And they lined them up in the dark of the forests
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| And shot them down without asking no questions
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| Here’s a song to those who are gone with never a reason why
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| And a toast of the wine to the end of the line
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| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
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| And over the ocean, to the red Spanish soil
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| came the lincoln brigade with their dreams
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| But they fell in the fire of germany’s bombing
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| And they fell 'cause no one would hear their sad warning
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| Here’s a song to those who are gone with never a reason why
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| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
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| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
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| In old Alabama, in old Mississippi
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| Two states of the union so often found guilty
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| They came on the busses, they came on the marches
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| And they lay in the jails or they fell by the highway
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| Here’s a song to those who are gone with never a reason why
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| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
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| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die |