| There are pictures on the piano
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| Pictures of the family
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| Mostly my kids but there’s an old
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| Picture of you and me
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| You were five and I was six
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| In 1952
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| That was forty years ago
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| How could it be true?
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| We were sitting outside drawing
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| At a table meant for cards
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| And it must have been in autumn
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| Falling leaves in the front yard
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| With a shoe box full of crayons
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| Full of colors oh so bright
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| In a picture in a plastic frame
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| A snapshot black and white
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| You were looking at my paper
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| Watching what I drew
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| It was natural: I was older
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| Thirteen months more than you
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| A brother and a sister
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| A little boy and girl
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| And whoever took that picture
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| Captured our own world
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| A brother needs a sister
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| To watch what he can do
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| To protect and to torture
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| To boss around—it's true
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| But a brother will defend her
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| For a sister’s love is pure
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| Because she thinks he’s wonderful
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| When he is not so sure
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| In the picture there’s a fender
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| Of our old Chevrolet
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| Or Pontiac—our dad would know
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| Surely he could say
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| But dad is dead and we grow old
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| It’s true that time flies by
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| And in forty years the world has changed
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| As well as you and I |