| The grocer’s broom, back and forth
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| Glides across the warn wooden floor
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| He stirs the dust of the day
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| Counts the change before closing the drawer
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| Thirty years out the door
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| Because the landlord wanted five hundred more
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| Some stop by the store
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| Just to see if he’s doing OK
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| It’s a crime, it’s a shame
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| This old neighborhood won’t be the same
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| You could take a lazy cruise
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| Over five thousand fathoms of blue
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| To pass those idle days
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| I suppose I’ve worked enough for one life anyway
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| I’ve earned these idle eays
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| He shuts the light, says goodnight
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| Makes his way up the wide boulevard
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| He stops to talk — farethewell, take good care
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| It’s a beautiful night
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| High above, a million stars
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| The city blocks seem like five million more
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| Than a few hundred yards
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| He climbs the stoop, finds the key
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| And passes into the dark living-room
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| He sees the old sunken chair
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| Where silence sits playing her flute
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| He finds the tune, he hums along
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| She will teach him her five hundred songs
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| And they’ll pass … |