| I sat upon the evening hill
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| The shadows set, the night grew still
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| And as I sat, guitar on knee
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| A voice of flowers called to me
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| Sing, sing to me your song
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| Sing, for I belong to the night
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| In the gray morning light, I’ll be gone
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| I turned with eyes that strained for sight
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| And there amid the failing light
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| Dimly saw a figure small
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| Heard a voice of magic call
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| Sing, sing to me your song
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| Sing, for I belong to the night
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| In the gray morning light, I’ll be gone
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| My fumbling fingers found the chords
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| My trembling lips fought for the words
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| I stopped to ask the stranger how
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| He softly said, «No questions now»
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| Sing, sing to me your song
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| Sing, for I belong to the night
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| In the gray morning light, I’ll be gone
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| Then with the magic of the elves
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| My fingers danced among themselves
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| A heart with lightness thus endowed
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| Formed melodies I know not how
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| Song played the whole night long
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| Thus he danced and laughed through the night
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| And with gray morning light, he was gone
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| Now, the whispering wind plays over the hill
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| And the evening sounds again grow still
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| A year or more has passed since then
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| Oh, he will not pass my way again
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| So, I sing, sing to you my song
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| Sing for I belong to the night
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| In the gray morning light, I’ll be gone |