| Oh she danced in the street with the guns all around her
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| All torn like a rag doll, barefoot in the rain
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| And she sang like a child, toora-day toora-daddy
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again
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| She sat by the banks of the dirty grey river
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| And tried for a fish with a worm on a pin
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| There was nothing but fever and ghosts in the water
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again
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| War was my love and my friend and companion
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| And what did I care for the pretty and plain
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| But her smile was so clear and my heart was so troubled
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again
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| In her poor burned-out house I sat at her table
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| The smell of her hair was like cornfields in May
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| And I wanted to weep and my eyes ached from trying
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again
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| So graceful she moved through the dust and the ruin
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| And happy she was in her dances and games
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| Oh teach me to see with your innocent eyes, love
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again
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| Oh how will I ever be simple again |