| I’ve traveled to cities you’ve never seen
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| Far from the town where I was a teen
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| To Budapest and west Odense
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| A million miles from New Providence
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| Thirty years later, my childhood’s gone
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| The blue-and-white house half-acre lawn
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| So why do I dwell on the elm tree in back
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| The mezuzah in front and the books in the stack?
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| There was nothing to do and the neighbors were mean
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| I sat in my room and tried not to scream
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| We fought and we squabbled every third day
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| And I longed for the time when I’d go far away
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| I never look back and I try to forget
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| So why do I think of this house with regret?
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| Why do I dwell on the elm tree in back
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| The mezuzah in front and the books in the stack?
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| Now I walk to work under a mackerel sky
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| The tears start to slide, I can’t fathom why
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| It’s been nine years since you’re in a grave
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| I keep on living and I even forgave
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| How you died in front of me that day
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| The clocks keeps ticking as you slide away
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| And time stood still for a full year
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| While I pretend you were near
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| Mom, you died in front of me that day
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| Four paramedics, they couldn’t say
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| That you would live to comfort me
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| Or one day know who I would be
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| I never look back and I try to forget
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| So why do I think of the house with regret?
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| Why do I dwell on the elm tree in back
|
| The mezuzah in front and the books in the stack?
|
| I never look back and I try to forget
|
| So why do I think of the house with regret?
|
| Why do I dwell on the elm tree in back
|
| The mezuzah in front and the books in the stack? |