Why she steppin’ on that small child, though?
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past?
And with its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
It whispers “No, this will be the last”
And the wind cries, “Mary”
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