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Poor old Joe
Ook wel: Gone Are the Days, Old black Joe
- Gone are the days,
when my heart was young and gay.
Gone are my friends,
from the cottonfields away.
Gone from the earth,
to a better land I know.
I hear their gentle voices calling:
"Poor old Joe!"
I'm coming, I'm coming,
for my head is bending low.
I hear their gentle voices calling:
"Poor old Joe!" - Why should I weep,
when my heart should feel no pain?
Why do I sigh,
that my friends come not again?
Grieving for forms,
now deported long ago?
- Where are the hearts,
once so happy and so free?
The children so dear,
that I held upon my knee?
Gone to the shore,
where my soul has longed to go.
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