| In an upstairs room, under lock and key
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| It’s my brother, Former Lee
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| All the mops and brooms keep him company
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| Misconceived of the family
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| Former Lee Warmer pulls up the covers to hide in his wrinkled bed
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| No dreams go in, no dreams go out of the hole in his wrinkled head
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| Former Lee Warmer
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| When I hear him play in his twisted key
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| That’s the way he calls to me On a silver tray, I keep the master key
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| In every way, he depends on me Former Lee Warmer, an old smoking jacket — holes in his satin sleeves
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| Candle lit puddles, arthritic fingers, yellow stained ivory keys
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| In an upstairs room under lock and key
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| It’s my brother, Former Lee
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| And after all these years, I’ve never heard him speak
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| I wonder what he thinks of me Former Lee Warmer peeks out the window
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| When he feels really brave
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| Former Lee Warmer waves at his father
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| Out in the family grave
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| He’s flesh and blood to me
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| I love him brotherly
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| But, I don’t want to be Former Lee |