| Half Mile Hill, eight years old
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| Standing on top with the world below
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| Me and my dad
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| Talking man to man
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| Suitcase packed, he was moving out
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| Said, It’s no one’s fault, but I had my doubts
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| And I have them still
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| Up on Half Mile Hill
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| You can see the ball fields
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| Watch the cars go 'round the courthouse
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| See the sun go down
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| Where the street lamps glow
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| On those checkerboard roads
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| Wishing I could fly like a cut-string kite
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| Tapping on the floor of heaven
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| Is anybody listening?
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| Half Mile Hill, seventeen
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| Tailing the summer, Angie and me
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| Kicking beer cans off the side
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| One last time
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| She was wildcat tough, I was scarecrow thin
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| We were thick as theives 'til the bitter end
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| Trying to make time stand still
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| Up on Half Mile Hill
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| Hey all, you lovers and leavers
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| Stuck in-betweeners
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| Loners and stoners
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| Old drunks and dreamers
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| Rumbling and stumbling
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| Always looking for something
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| Past that no trespassing sign
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| You can see the ball fields
|
| Watch the cars go 'round the courthouse
|
| See the sun go down
|
| Where the Street lamps glow
|
| On those checkerboard roads
|
| Wishing I could fly like a cut-string kite
|
| Tapping on the floor of heaven
|
| Tapping on the floor of heaven
|
| Is anybody listening?
|
| (Is anybody listening?)
|
| Up on Half Mile Hill
|
| Is anybody listening?
|
| (Is anybody listening?) |