| I was born this very morning
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| And my brother he was also born
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| In our first nine months we learned to speak
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| And we have been listening since early morn
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| I love no one but my brother
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| Who spent those months with me
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| I hate no one and no other has so far hated me
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| But it isn’t yet the afternoon
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| And things are still to be
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| And when evening comes we all will see
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| I am not very old and I won’t live long
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| I was born this very morning singing this here song
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| Now I feel the worst for older people
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| Winding out their friendless hours alone
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| Seeing lives like plays at final curtain
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| Looking out to find everyone has gone home
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| Is there something I can pray to? |
| Some offering I can send?
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| Or some ear that I can play to, to help him find a friend?
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| And maybe then redeem myself to keep me from that end
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| For the evening comes and who knows when
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| I am not very old and I won’t live long
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| I was born this very morning singing this here song
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| Oh, my brother, where is our mother?
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| Is there no other to live together to be our lover?
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| I am not very old and I won’t live long
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| I was born this very morning singing this here song
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| For the evening comes and who knows when |