| I stayed in this city
|
| When I thought it would drain me
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| Could feel the road tugging
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| Against the anchor of family
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| And I watched the procession
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| As they packed up and moved away
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| I resolved to look forward
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| In the place that I would stay
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| Took the 54 uptown
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| To the house I was sorting through
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| While packing up memories
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| In my childhood bedroom
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| I filled up these boxes
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| With things I should have thrown away
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| They still sit in the corner untouched in any way
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| At a break in a long day
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| Found an old ball point pen sketch
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| While explaining my drawing
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| With unaffected disinterest
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| I realized I still daydream
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| About being a woman
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| It’s fine, it’s just something
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| Underneath everything
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| Like all of these boxes
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| Heavy with sentiment
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| Sealed and unopened
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| I lay under the weight of it
|
| And I stayed in this city
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| When it felt like a home to me
|
| On every block a new landlord
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| Trying to evict me
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| Yeah, I was sleeping on couches
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| At all my friends' houses
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| Washing rich people’s dishes
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| And losing myself in it |