| Pretty little cemetery on a summer’s day
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| Walking with my family, stopping on the way
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| To read the epitaphs and wonder at the graves
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| Pretty little cemetery on a summer’s day
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| Pretty little monument beneath a shady tree
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| For a little boy who died in 1943
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| But still in the air this lingering grief
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| Pretty little monument beneath a shady tree
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| There’s an old couple on the bus
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| Sitting next to us, my boy and I
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| And pointing to the graveyard
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| My boy turns to the old man
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| And says, «This is where
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| You go to when you die
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| My papa told me so»
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| The old man said, «Yes, we know»
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| Pretty little cemetery, hear the bells ring
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| When the night falls, it’s a very different thing
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| Outside the gate, there’s a woman looking in
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| Pretty little cemetery, hear the bells ring |