| Morning after snowstorm
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| Stand in the silence
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| Almost feel reborn all alone on the street
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| It’s a certain sort of stillness when the quiet surrounds you
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| The only sound your shovel on concrete
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| I remember those piles from the snow plows always seemed much bigger back when
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| I was kid
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| Pushed all of the snow to the end of the driveway
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| I was the only person up in the neighborhood
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| Morning after snowstorm
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| I turned the ignition and I started my car
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| Morning after snowstorm
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| I scraped off my windshield with the edge of a credit card
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| I remember that drive into work
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| Still can hear the voice coming over the radio
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| Listen to our experts give the best tips for the next time you entertain dinner
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| guests
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| I thought of the day in a tie in the kitchen I sat and I watched you put
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| make-up on
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| Thought of the day in the basement when I played house
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| I felt ashamed that I’d stayed in my head in the same place for so long
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| Because I was afraid to change
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| But that’s not an excuse to stay
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| Morning after snowstorm
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| I climbed up on the snowbank and I stared at the neighborhood
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| Morning after snowstorm
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| I think I finally understood what they meant when they said there’s a calm
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| after the storm
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| Saw my grandpa at his workbench building grandma’s bookshelf
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| Watched a woman walk her trash out to the street
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| Father alone on the highway
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| I heard the salt trucks and neighbors off to work
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| Saw my mother
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| Saw how history loops around all of these moments and then I saw you
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| In a dress there with your eyes open wide to put make-up on
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| Thought of the day in the basement that I played house
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| And I felt ashamed I’d ignored all the hands that extended before and around me
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| Because I was afraid to change
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| But that’s not an excuse to stay
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| It’s not an excuse |