| There’s a place in Hamburg, near the pier,
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| where people walk along.
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| No one seems to worry now
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| Still just a few years back…
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| There was a war going on.
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| And there’s a man who stands alone all day,
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| and plays the violin.
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| Wearing a hat and long coat,
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| a man without a name…
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| There’s been a war going on.
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| Feeding the strings with memories,
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| telling things that words can’t say…
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| Feeding the strings with melodies,
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| telling things that words can’t say.
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| The story ends one day,
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| and the music plays no more.
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| On the empty sidewalk stays the soul
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| of a man who used to tell…
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| There was a war going on…
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| Feeding the strings with memories,
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| telling things that words can’t say…
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| Feeding the strings with melodies,
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| telling things that words can’t say.
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| Feeding the strings with memories,
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| telling things that words can’t say…
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| Feeding the strings with melodies,
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| telling things that words can’t say. |