| A gypsy sings, of birds with broken wings
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| And painted wheels that never roll
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| Who hears the sighs? |
| Who stole this paradise?
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| Who took the fire from his soul?
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| And where are the roads to freedom?
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| Where is the life his father knew?
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| Where is the love, where is the joy
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| And tell me, where are the roads to freedom?
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| Now truthful life, who hears the soldier cry?
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| He was a hero of the war
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| But no one comes near, he sheds a lonely tear
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| And wonders what it all was for
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| And where are the roads to freedom?
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| Where is the life his father knew?
|
| Where is the love, where is the joy
|
| And tell me, where are the roads to freedom?
|
| And where are the roads to freedom?
|
| Where is the life his father knew?
|
| Where is the love, where is the joy
|
| And tell me, where are the roads to freedom? |