| Come take a look with me in an old fashioned picture book
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| Patience, the girl we see on the sand with the squint and parasol low
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| Sweethearts are sewn 'tween the cloth of her cuff
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| A shell in her little tight hand; |
| soon she’ll be going away
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| With her bottle of sand tomorrow from the shores of yesterday
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| Come see her move and be in our old fashioned backward look
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| Just like an old movie, talking and real like when it was took
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| Bats, balls and Tomboys, cheeky and gruff
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| Faint sounds of a distant brass band, who rides the donkey today
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| Will our visions of tomorrow mingle with those of yesterday?
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| Come, close your eyes and hear melodies from an old music box
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| Tinkling as tandems and tears go tumbling like tresses and small perfumed locks
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| Sweet dreams were sewn 'tween the years of her life
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| A tear in her little kerchief, waving and fading away
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| With her ottled sand tomorrow, from thnbe shores of yesterday
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| Will her visions of tomorrow mingle with those of yesterday?
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| Come take a look with me in an old fashioned picture book |