| Where do you come from?
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| Do the children break the windows of the houses that no one lives in?
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| Do you have bad days?
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| The trees, the leaves, the late nights.
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| The cold, the dark, the night time.
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| The streets that breathe in our names are shameless places.
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| Fingernails all filled with soil and sorrow.
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| We will break the fence or we will climb it.
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| (New apartment complexes rising).
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| Tear down your billboards and all your street lights.
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| We’re standing up on stilts while the ground below is shaking
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| And we can see the skin from our sunburn flake away.
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| And we’d never have bad days.
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| They’d move like months.
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| We’re keeping these years tucked away.
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| Like celebrated zip codes.
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| Like a neighbor with a shortcut through their backyard.
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| Holding onto something whether it be a postcard or a purpose.
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| Where are you, and where have you run to?
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| Why don’t you just come home? |