| When apples still grow in November
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| And blossoms still grow from each tree
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| When leaves are still green in December
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| It’s then that our lands will be free
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| I travelled her hills and her valleys
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| And still trough the sorrows I see
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| A land that has never know freedom
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| And only our rivers run free
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| And only our rivers run free
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| I drink to the death of her manhood
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| Those men who’d rather had died
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| Than to live in the cold chains of bondage
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| To bring back their lives were denied
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| Oh where are you now when we need you
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| What burns were the flames used to be
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| Are you gone like the snows of last winter
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| And will only our rivers run free
|
| And will only our rivers run free
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| How sweet is life but we’re crying
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| How mellow the wine but is dry
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| How fregrant the rose but is dying
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| How gentle the breeze but is sigh
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| What good is it new when it’s aging
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| What joy in the eyes that can’t see
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| When there’s sorrow in sunshine and flower
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| And still only our rivers run free
|
| And still only our rivers run free
|
| I travelled her hills and her valleys
|
| And still through her sorrows I see
|
| A land that has never known freedom
|
| And only our rivers run free
|
| And only our rivers run free |