He was there the night the wall came down.
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He lost her in the endless crowd,
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In the shadow of St. Stephen's cross.
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He sent cries aloft for his fellow man,
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His fingers slipping from her hand,
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The rain clouds prowling overhead.
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She was there the night the wall came down.
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She faded into that newborn crowd
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Like a warning of what could be lost.
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Through the perforated night she ran,
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Her fingers slipping from his hand,
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And she breathed in freedom
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Before daylight tread.
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They were there the night the wall was drowned
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In the surging of that tidal crowd:
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An old world made new
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On the same holy ground.
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She found him standing, looking lost
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In the shadow of St. Stephen's cross,
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And he closed his eyes and heard no sound
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But her breathing warm against his mouth.
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St. Stephen's Cross
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Vienna Teng |