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In the time spent in the foggy dew |
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With the raven and the dove |
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Barefoot she walked the winter streets |
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In search of her own true love |
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For she was Mary Hamilton |
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And lover of John Riley |
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And the maid of constant sorrow |
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And the mother of the doomed Geordie |
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One day by the banks of the river |
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Midst tears and gossamer |
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Sweet Michael rowed his boat ashore |
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And came to rescue her |
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And fill thee up my loving cup |
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Fast and to the brim |
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How many fair and tender maids |
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Could love as she could then? |
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For was, was likened to Pretty Boy Floyd |
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And also John Riley |
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And a rake and rambling railroad boy |
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And the Silkie of the Sule Skerry |
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And there in the arms of Michael |
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In their stolen hour |
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Loud rang the bells of Rhymney |
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From the ancient church bell tower |
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And there in the night with Michael |
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While he lay fast asleep |
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She put her head to the window pane |
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And in the fullness of love did weep |
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And fill thee up my loving cup |
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Fast and to the brim |
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How many fair and tender maids |
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Will love as she did then? |
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You've heard of the House of the Rising Sun |
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And what careless love can do |
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You've heard of the wildwood flower |
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That fades in the morning dew |
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And of the ship that circles three times 'round |
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And sinks beneath the sea |
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You've heard of Barbary Allen |
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And now you've heard of me |
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So fill thee up my loving cup |
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Fast and to the brim |
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How many fair and tender maids |
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Will ever love again? |