They said that Jenny too was once an ugly wretch
And how her dress was torn and ragged
Back when her life was brief and rugged
She had no sense for fine perfume
And still her eyes cast down as she walks
Through each gilded room
You'll note her gowns are never
Hung with a string of pearls
No one who sees her, plain and modest
Senses the illegitimate girl, hidden within
So, hark and hail, "The Swedish Nightingale"
Is this is not a pretty tale? Is this not a riddle?
A bow shoots arrows through the air
A bow drags notes from a fiddle
But who is the beau of poor girl's dreams?
That a king may send to battle
Is this not a pretty tale? Is this not a riddle?
If red is the breast of soldier's tunic
Hung with a silver medal
And red is the thorn that protects the rose
A deeper red than the petal
How deep is the red our redeemer bled
The debt of our sins to settle?
How deep is the red?
How deep is the red?
How deep is the red our redeemer bled?
How deep is the red?
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