| On a park bench the old man
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| Sat and stared into yesterday
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| I sat down beside him and said
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| «Thank God for this quite place
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| Between the wife and teh kids, the TV and the phone
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| It seems there’s something always goin’on»
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| He said, «Son, if you think this is quite
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| You should follow me home»
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| 'Cause you ain’t heard nothin’yet
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| 'Til you’ve lived in a house by yourself
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| When silence is all you’ve got left
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| In the rooms where your babies have slept
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| So don’t wish for something you will regret
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| 'Cause you ain’t heard nothin’yet
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| The old man kept talkin'
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| Painting pictures from his memories
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| Did he drag out his past for himself
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| Or was it for me His eyes came alive, he spoke of dancing with his wife
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| And playing ball with his two little boys
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| He said, «Son, what I hear is music, you’re callin’noise»
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| We’ll all rest in peace, on that you can bet
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| Oh, you ain’t heard nothin’yet |