| Dad never started drinking 'til he was thirty-five
|
| And once he found the power
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| He made up for his lost time
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| Go outside and catch a cricket, then unplug the phone
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| Said their singing kept him company
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| When we’d leave him alone
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| Those were days of feeling awkward
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| Being seventeen and such
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| Hoping I could find some comfort
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| In a deacon’s daughter’s touch
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| I’d spend time out in the desert
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| Feeling lonely with a friend
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| And we’d talk about leaving
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| But it was years before we did
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| Oh the time moves slow
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| And you can’t go where you want to go
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| But, oh the time slips away
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| Day after day, day after day
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| Day after day
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| Well I found myself a genie
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| Said she’s grant a wish for me
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| And all I had to do was love her
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| Endlessly
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| So I asked my dad about it and he said
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| Son, life’s a game we play
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| So I closed my eyes, held her and said
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| Take me away
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| Let’s live in a lighthouse on the Maritime shore
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| And we’ll hang a wreath to loneliness
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| Upon our lighthouse door
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| But we never made the ocean, she never followed through
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| She said the day she left
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| You know, I really thought you knew
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| Well I went back home to see my dad
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| And I walked through the door
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| To his photographs of Hank and Johnny
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| Lying on the floor
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| Hank had a hole shot through his mouth
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| And Johnny in the head
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| There were crickets in hallway
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| And Dad awake in bed
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| He was sitting in the darkness
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| With just a cigarette light
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| Said he went a little crazy
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| Sometime in the night
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| I never asked him about the pictures
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| Though it was clear to me
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| He shot 'em for the life
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| And the man he wouldn’t be |