| I found myself standing on my old home ground
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| Though I’ve heard that you never can go back again
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| As the first snow of winter, like hope, drifted down
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| I turned my collar up to the wind
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| At the «Soldiers and Sailors» down on Riverside
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| I kept my watch over dead man’s hill
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| And I swore that I heard my own voice slipping by
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| Must be a trick of the wind, a trick of the chill
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| Between the death of a dream and the fortunes of war
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| I’m spinning helpless in this circle I’ve been in before
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| And I reach for the hand that’s always been there
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| And come up with empty air
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| Empty air
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| And over and over
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| I see that light that was in your eyes
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| And word for word
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| I remember the last words you said to me
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| And word for word
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| I remember you promised you’d wait for me
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| All the walking wounded on this Manhattan beat
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| We keep on pounding the street
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| Waiting for something to clear
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| And we’ve all got our memories
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| That keep pushing our feet, well
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| I’ve got a face in my rear view mirror
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| And over and over
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| I see that look that was in your eyes
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| And word for word
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| I remember the last words you said to me
|
| And word for word
|
| I remember you promised you’d wait for me
|
| And word for word
|
| I remember the last words you said to me
|
| And word for word
|
| I remember you promised you’d wait for me
|
| Word for word for word for word
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| Word for word for word for word
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| Word for word for word for word
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| For word
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| Word for word for word for word
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| Word for word for word for word
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| Word for word for word for word
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| For word |