| The lone woman stands in the turning December
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| She’s got ice on her lashes, white at her winter coat
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| The trees stand like soldiers around her
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| Dutiful wooden curse
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| And the heart she feared frozen
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| Still beats and still marches on
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| Oh, Annie
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| I will think of you each time I see the sun
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| Didn’t want a day without you
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| But somehow I’ve lived through another one
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| A gentlemen waits on a platform in a haze of gray and grief
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| Now he’s sold up his assets, starting over at 70
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| The steam blasts like trumpets around him
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| Salutes on the colonnade
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| As he thinks to himself:
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| «We're all waiting for our train to come»
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| Oh, Annie
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| I will think of you each time I see the sun
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| Didn’t want a year without you
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| But somehow I’ve lived through another one
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| Did you find it hard to breathe at first?
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| Were you winded and in disbelief at how much it hurt?
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| Now the ache’s still burning, but the world’s still turning
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| Isn’t it?
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| Oh, Annie
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| I still think of you each time I see the sun
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| Didn’t want a life without you
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| But here I am living one |