| It is yet to be determined,
|
| but the air is thick,
|
| & my hope is feeling worn.
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| I’m missing home,
|
| & I’m glad you’re not a part of this,
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| there are parts of me that will be missed.
|
| And the phone is always dead to me,
|
| so I can’t tell you the temperature is dropping
|
| & it feels like
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| it is colder than it ought to be in March
|
| & I still have a day or two ahead of me till I’ll be heading home,
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| into your arms again.
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| And the people here are asking after you.
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| It doesn’t make it easier.
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| It doeasn’t make it easier to be away.
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| I’d like to hire a plane.
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| I’d see you in the morning,
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| when the day is fresh.
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| I’m coming home again.
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| It’s warmer where you’re waiting.
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| It feels more like July.
|
| Ther’s pillows in their cases
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| & one of those is mine.
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| And you wrote the words I love you,
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| & sprayed it with perfume.
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| It is better than the fire is to heat this lonely room.
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| It is warmer where you’re waiting
|
| It feels more like July. |