| Every time I shed tears
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| In the last past years
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| When I pass through the hills
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| Oh, what images return
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| Oh, I yearn
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| For the roots of the woods
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| That origin of all my strong and strange moods
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| I lost something in the hills
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| I lost something in the hills
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| I grew up in declivities
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| Others grow up in cities
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| Where first love and soul takes rise
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| There where times in my life
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| When I felt mad and deprived
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| And only the slopes gave me hope
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| When I pass through the leg high grass, I shall die
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| Under the jasmine, I shall die
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| In the elder tree
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| I need not try to prepare for a new coming day
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| Where is it that fills the deepness I feel?
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| You will say I’m not Robin the Hood
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| But how could I hide from top to foot
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| That I lost something in the hills
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| I lost something in the hills
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| Oh, I lost something in the hills
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| Now I lean on my window sill
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| And I cry, though it’s silly
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| And I’m dreaming of off and away
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| Oh, I know further west these hills exist
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| Marked by apple trees
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| Marked by a straight brook
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| That leads me wherever I want it to
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| Well I lost something in the hills
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| I lost something in the hills
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| Oh, I lost something in the hills |