| The wrinkles on your face
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| I don’t see them
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| Hairs fall out of place
|
| I don’t see them
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| The birthdays that you missed
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| And the kisses you resist
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| Many others clench their fists
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| But I don’t see them
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| I don’t see a single thing
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| Not the names or mud they sling
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| All I have is what you bring
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| When I see you
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| The compliments they pass
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| I don’t hear them
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| The hiss of snakes in grass
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| I don’t hear them
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| Although no longer here
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| Your every thought will raise a cheer
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| I toast the wine and every beer
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| And I still hear you
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| But I don’t hear the out of tune
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| Songs you sing from room to room
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| All I hear is angel’s croon
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| When I see you
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| If I saw your face
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| It wouldn’t compensate
|
| And it won’t replace
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| That vacancy, that space
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| Although you make no sound
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| I still hear you
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| You’re 6 feet underground
|
| But I still dig you
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| I’m the man who tends the flowers
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| Winter sun to autumn showers
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| I count the minutes and the hours
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| That I don’t see you
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| You took this heart and made it melt
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| You took these knees and got them knelt
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| And I still feel the way I felt
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| When I first saw you
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| If I saw your face
|
| It wouldn’t compensate
|
| And it won’t replace
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| That vacancy, that space
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| For he’s good to me
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| Looking down sometimes, it’s good for me
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| Brings me flowers on a rainy day
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| My love’s so very good to me
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| Can’t you see?
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| He’s good to me
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| Beyond the last kiss and the final wave
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| Beyond any doubt, beyond the grave
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| My love’s so very good to me… |