| In and out the seasons, in and out the door
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| The meadows and the woodland, out across the moor
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| Bread for the table, fodder for the store
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| There’s a whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| The men rise early to sharpen up their scythes
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| Their shirtsleeves rolled and their hats brimmed wide
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| There’s method in their muscle as they move on down the line
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| There’s a whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the changing time
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| The line is steady as the mowers make their way
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| They take a drop of cider in the heat of the day
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| The harvest is shared in the time-honoured way
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| There’s a whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| In and out the factory, in and out the mine
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| The office in the city and the market town
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| The mowers they are moving in the rhythm of the time
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| There’s a whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the changing time
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| Penny for a farthing, penny for a ride
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| Penny for your thoughts and a penny for the bride
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| Penny for the poor man who’s left high and dry
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| And a wave and a whistle in the morning
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| In and out the ages, in and out the years
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| Love lies a-courting jealousy and fears
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| There was in the beginning and there will always be
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| A whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| Life’s a moving picture, we capture it in frames
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| The image of the perfect and the image of the lame
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| In the eyes of the mowers we are all the same
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| There’s a whistle on the breeze in the morning
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the time
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| Can you feel the rhythm of the changing time |