Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
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From glen to glen and down the mountain side.
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The summer's gone, and all the flowers dying.
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'Tis you, 'tis you must go, and I must bide.
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But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,
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or when the valley's hushed and white with snow.
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'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow.
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Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny Boy, I love you so.
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But when ye come and all the roses falling,
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and I am dead, as dead I well may be,
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Go out and find the place where I am lying,
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And kneel and say an Ave there for me.
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And I will hear tho' soft your tread above me,
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and in my grave will warm and sweeter be.
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For you shall bend and tell me that you love me,
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And I will sleep in peace until you come to me.
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Danny Boy
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| ¾ÆÀÌÀ¯ |