| Six in the morning she’s up there
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| Up on the Widow’s Walk
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| Pacing the deck, eyes seaward
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| Up on the Widow’s Walk
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| Maybe it’s today, she says
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| I’ll let the fancy tempt me
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| She searches for a sign of a ship
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| But the sea is cold and empty
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| Lost at sea, they said he was
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| Never found a trace
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| Still she scans the horizon
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| Still her footsteps pace
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| She fell for his puppy eyes
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| His face chapped and battered
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| Most days he was rude or drunk
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| But charming when it mattered
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| But he’s never coming back to her
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| He’s never coming back
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| Always a thimble of hope, she says
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| But he’s never coming back
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| A short fuse and a hammer fist
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| He could reduce a bar to rubble
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| The sea was the best place for him
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| Kept him out of trouble
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| In the back of her mind she wonders
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| Does he have another life?
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| Shanghai, a new passport
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| Three kids and a wife?
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| Six in the morning she’s up there
|
| Up on the Widow’s Walk
|
| Pacing the deck, eyes seaward
|
| Up on the Widow’s Walk |