My sleeve is wet with floods of tears
My sleeve is wet with floods of tears
As here I sit and cry;
'Tis wetter than a low-tide rock,—
No one, howe'er he try,
Can find a spot that's dry!
As here I sit and cry;
'Tis wetter than a low-tide rock,—
No one, howe'er he try,
Can find a spot that's dry!
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