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Standing alone, in a tearful refrain, |
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The girl from the hills sighs in vain, |
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People scutter by as she unbuttons one button from her pretty city dress |
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Watching the sun lend the sky to the moon, |
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And it's times like these, she yearns to be, back where the air doesn't bleed, |
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And the birds whisper words of tranquility, |
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She yearns to be... |
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Yearns to be |
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She looks to the sky in a daze of deep dismay, |
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And she questions all her troubles and her strifes of life, |
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Oh...for wealth is from the heart, not a car, a house or a plastic credit card |
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For every tear you lose a diamond from your crown |
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And it's times like these, she yearns to be, |
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Back under that old apple tree, |
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Where she'd dance and she'd sing to this melody, |
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She'd sing to me, she'd sing to me |
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And it's times like these when the world's so cruel that she'd hear this voice inside her call... |