| One find day by the old mill stream
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| There lived this girl and her name was Annabell and she
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| Lived there with her ma and da
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| Did this girl and her, her name was Annabell
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| She was sweet as the flowers in May
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| 'Til one day she ran away from home
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| And packed her things and took to the road
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| With the few possessions in a case
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| She borrowed from a friend
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| But the neon signs of Dublin made her dizzy for a while
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| She’s lookin' for the brighter things she’s found there, not her style
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| She’ll head across the water where she hopes there’s brighter things
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| This bird has taken wings, she looks for brighter things
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| For discontenment brings resentment as this girl looks for excitement
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| In a house on the Old Kent Road
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| There lived this girl and her name was Annabell
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| And she lives there in the small abode
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| In a lonely room and there she’s feeling lost amongst the crowd
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| And every morning at half past eight
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| Down she goes through the factory gate and
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| Clocks her card in the factory hall
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| And for eight hours, you know, this girl
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| Puts pickles in a jar
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| But the neon signs of London made her dizzy for a while
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| She’s lookin' for the quieter things she’s found there, not her style
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| She’ll head across the water where she hopes there’s quieter things
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| This bird has taken wings, she looks for quieter things
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| For discontentment brings resentment as this girl looks for contentment
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| La, la la, la la la, la la, la la la, la la, la la la, la la la la la la,
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| la la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la
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| There’s nowhere else like home |