| I saw the two chevy minuet in the alley
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| I heard Maggie call 'Hello' to a toilet flushing
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| And Angie say she guesses I’m not home
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| Sammy laughed 'Maybe Grandpa’s napping in his chair --
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| Eyes half open and head thrown back
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| His teeth slip to tempt his chin.'
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| I was a shivering bombadier when I married Maggie
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| Angie was eight months old when I first said Hello
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| She was thirteen when I lost her
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| When She’d grown too big to dance on her daddy’s toes
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| And I was but what 23 in Memphis
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| 22 through Dresden and Essen
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| My think weak tin canteen’s bent seam’s slow dribble wet
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| My hip with each step
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| I learned my airport and train station lessons in
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| The heavy heave and whistle of my breath
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| And now here I am in my own uptown closet
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| Alone with my cauliflower nose
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| But on an overnight train home
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| Over open dirt years ago
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| I lost what I’d known all along
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| And from then on it would be only to myself
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| I’d belong
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| And is this my last stand?
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| A call to arms to lower back and finally stop asking
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| Each other what’s wrong
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| All the time |