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Old Black Joe

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
Gone are my friends, from the cotton field away
Gone from the earth, to a better land I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."


I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low;
I hear those gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."

Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain,
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
Grieving for forms now departed long ago?
I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."

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.
I hear their gentle voices calling, "Old Black Joe."


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