| At the back of my grandmother’s house there was a hill
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| With a tangled garden, thick and wild
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| We used to go there, you and I, as children
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| Slipping away from the aunts and uncles and their homemade brew
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| We carried our ice creams in the summer sun
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| Trying to make them last as long as we could
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| Pretty soon they started to run
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| Dripping down our arms, dripping on the ground
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| Melting
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| We sat under the trees smoking bark
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| Lighting little fires and stompin' each one out
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| As the summer went on the flames grew higher
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| We just stared and stared and stared at everything melting
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| Melting
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| At the back of my grandmother’s house there was a hill
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| Black and smoking at the end of the day
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| We watched the fire trucks go back on down the road
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| We heard them calling out our names
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| We were standing in the shadows, melting
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| Melting, melting
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| Now my grandmother’s house is a supermarket
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| And I’m far away, living in a colder city
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| And tonight I’ve pulled the top off a bottle of beer
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| And I’ve lit a fire and I’m staring, staring
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| Where are you, where are you now?
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| You’re melting, we’re all melting, melting, melting, melting |