| I’m walking a road from the old part of town to the mountains
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| The one I would take to pick mushrooms and herbs as a child
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| To an enchanted forest in a magic time
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| Where a child could grow up wild before the killers came
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| They fenced us in and the mountains were filled up with snipers
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| A thousand points of light as bright as the stars in the sky
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| Our one line of defense was the forests and fields
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| Where we’d plant our mines for them to reap
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| Walk in the shadow
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| Life under siege
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| For three long years the only way out was a coffin
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| As we scraped a living bleeding our fair city dry
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| You can’t feed your child on resistance & pride
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| We were just out of supplies when the killers went
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| We reclaimed the streets
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| We reclaimed the squares and the sidewalks
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| Stepped out of the shadows
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| Taught the children to play in the sun
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| But to not run and hide in the forests and fields
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| Where the mines won’t be cleared in sixty years
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| I’m walking a road from the old part of town to the mountains
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| Through forests and fields that used to be 90% of our industry
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| Where my sons worked full time sweeping mines that I planted
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| Since the day my grandson became a memory |