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Poor old Joe
Ook wel: Old black Joe
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Gone are the days
When my heart was young and gay,
Gone are my friends
From the cotton-fields away,
Gone from the earth,
To a better land I know.
Chorus:
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”
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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?
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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 long’d to go...