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Saint Etienne
Like The Swallow


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
for her head.
She`s like the sunshine on the lea-shore,
I love my love, and love is no more.