Will far the meadows stretch,
To the countryside, and o'er the hedge,
In England's green stripes shall I find repose,
Getting back home to where I first planted my rose.
Years of suffering I've but seen,
Away from grasslands plenty and green.
Dark and sultry, thrown into this fallen land,
Fell I not into some English hand.
The wide arms of Satan old and strong,
Had cast o'er me a shadow quite wrong,
Drawing a line between the new and the grand,
Where my old home went, I could not understand.
My heart longs to get behind those walls,
In England's green pastures where I've left my youth,
A palace of gold I'd given up then,
Now only to find peace in familial truth.
To the countryside, and o'er the hedge,
In England's green stripes shall I find repose,
Getting back home to where I first planted my rose.
Years of suffering I've but seen,
Away from grasslands plenty and green.
Dark and sultry, thrown into this fallen land,
Fell I not into some English hand.
The wide arms of Satan old and strong,
Had cast o'er me a shadow quite wrong,
Drawing a line between the new and the grand,
Where my old home went, I could not understand.
My heart longs to get behind those walls,
In England's green pastures where I've left my youth,
A palace of gold I'd given up then,
Now only to find peace in familial truth.
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