Born in a sorry cot, left on the stairs of the cold stone;
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Damned to be scorned, in darkness, damned to be alone;
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Taken by the Church, his soul will be slave of God;
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In the belfry´s beauty is his figure something odd.
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We see the hunchback in Notre Dame
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Dancing on the tallest towers
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Arcades and spires, filling his heart,
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Deep like the choir, fine like the art
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Is the place my cell, is it?
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Is God´s home my hell?
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Oh, my body prisions my poor soul,
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Until I toll!
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I am grim, full of gloom
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In my dim gothic tomb
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But the bells in my heart chime for ever
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With the ding that belongs
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To the king of their songs
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I´m the sound of Notre Dame
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In the Wheel of Life he is a horror for the crowd,
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When will be the time he´ll see the sun between the clouds?
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Looking at the bells he thinks about his tragic fate
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Wants to be a rock or metal like his souless mates
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We hear the hunchback in Notre Dame
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Crying on the tallest towers
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Gargoyles and columns, his relity;
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Chants which are solemn, his agony
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Is this place my cell, is it?
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Is God´s home my hell?
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Oh, my body imprisons my poor soul
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Until i toll!
|
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I am grim, full of gloom
|
In my dim gothic tomb
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But the bells in my heart chime for ever
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With the ding that belongs
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To the king of their songs
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I´m the sound of Notre Dame
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-----------------
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Bells of Notre Dame
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Dark Moor |