| Heart-carved tree trunk, Yankee bayonet
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| A sweetheart left behind
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| Far from the hills of the sea-swelled Carolinas
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| That’s where my true love lies
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| Look for me when the sun-bright swallow
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| Sings upon the birch bough high
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| But you are in the ground with the voles and the weevils
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| All a’chew upon your bones so dry
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| But when the sun breaks
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| To no more bulletin battle-cry
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| Then will you make a grave
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| For I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| Then
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| When I was a girl how the hills of Oconee
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| Made a seam to hem me in There at the fair when our eyes caught, careless
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| Got my heart right pierced by a pin
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| But oh, did you see all the dead of Manassas
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| All the bellies and the bones and the bile
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| Though I lingered here with the blankets barren
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| And my own belly big with child
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| But when the sun breaks
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| To no more bulletin battle-cry
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| Then will you make a grave
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| For I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| I will be home then
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| Stems and bones and stone walls too
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| Could keep me from you
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| Scaly skin is all too few
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| To keep me from you
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| But oh my love, though our bodies may be parted
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| Though our skin may not touch skin
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| Look for me with the sun-bright sparrow
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| I will come on the breath of the wind |