She's like the swallow
that flies so high.
She's like the river
that never runs dry.
She's like the sunshine on the lea-shore,
I love my love, and love is no more.
It's out of roses
she made her bed.
A stolen pillow
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She's like the swallow
that flies so high.
She's like the river
that never runs dry.
She's like the sunshine on the lea-shore,
I love my love, and love is no more.
It's out of roses
she made her bed.
A stolen pillow