| Well, I don’t know
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| Where the cool kids hang on Friday night
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| Used to park our parent’s car by the billboard sign
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| They tore it down years ago to build a small highrise
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| It’s abandoned now
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| And it’s been that way for a while, sometime
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| It don’t make sense
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| But the cheap motel is always open
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| Seems like we’re sitting in a handbasket
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| Wondering where it’s going
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| There’s a freshwater shark in a small fish tank
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| Behind the counter
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| Door’s always locked
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| And you gotta pre-pay in cash by the hour
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| The sunsets still look the way they always do
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| Over the backyard trees
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| My grandma used to sit under in the afternoon
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| And you can’t keep everything the way you want it
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| Feels like even the ghosts are getting out
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| Giving up on your hometown
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| Every single sunday, 10AM
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| We were in that pew
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| I was married there and baptized there
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| And my kids were too
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| My mother sang in the women’s choir before she died
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| And the day they sold that church
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| Even the statue of Mother Mary cried
|
| The sunsets still look the way they always do
|
| Over the backyard trees
|
| My grandma used to sit under in the afternoon
|
| And you can’t keep everything the way you want it
|
| Feels like even the ghosts are getting out
|
| Giving up on your hometown
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| Giving up on your hometown
|
| Every kid that’s left just kept going
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| And every debt we didn’t pay
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| We just keep owing
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| Never visit your daddy’s grave
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| But we go by the house
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| He’d be working on a car in the driveway
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| If he was with us now
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| And that porch swing you built for your mama
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| Is all but gone
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| I guess even when you stay right here
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| Sometimes you can’t go home
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| Giving up on your hometown
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| Giving up on your hometown
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| Giving up on your hometown |