| I saw your shoes empty by the door
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| I’ve never thought of them like that before
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| And I can hear the silence in between the sound
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| But I still hear your voice when you are not around
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| And I saw your mother’s name, in a book of poetry
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| And I saw your mother’s hand, in her favourite recipe
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| But she will never know me, no she will never know
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| Oh Peggy, the things we leave behind
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| Well this is the place where nothing stays the same
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| And these are the feelings that never go away
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| And I can see the time filling up your eyes
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| We are all the things we try to hide
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| And I saw your mother’s name, in a book of poetry
|
| And I saw your mother’s hand, in her favourite recipe
|
| But she will never know me, no she will never know
|
| Oh Peggy, the things we leave behind
|
| Oh Peggy, the things we leave behind
|
| I saw your shoes empty by the door
|
| I’ve never thought of them like that before |