| I can live with the sky falling out from above
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| I can live with your scorn, your sourness, your smug
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| I can live growing old alone if push comes to shove
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| But I can’t live without my mother’s love
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| I can live flying around at an impossible pace
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| I can live with the bad etiquette that’s fallen on this place
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| I can live with anything you got to throw in my face
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| But I can’t live without my mother’s embrace
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| My mother is seventy-five
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| She’s the closest friend that I have in my life
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| Take her from me, I’ll break down and bawl
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| And wither away like old leaves in the fall
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| You can be cruel all you want, talk bad on my brothers
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| Shoot me full of holes and I won’t be bothered
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| Judge me for my ways and my slew of ex-lovers
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| But don’t ever dare say a bad word about my mother
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| When she’s gone, I’ll miss our slow easy walks
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| Playing Scrabble to the chimes of the grandfather clock
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| I’ll even miss the times that we fought
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| But mostly, I’ll miss being able to call her and talk
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| I can live without watching the classical fights
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| I can live without a lover beside me at night
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| I can live without what you might call a charmed life
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| But I can’t live without my mother providing her light
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| My mother is seventy-five
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| One day, she won’t be here to hear me cry
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| When the day comes for her to let go
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| I’ll die off like a lemon tree in the snow
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| When the day comes for her to leave
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| I won’t have the courage to sort through her things
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| With my sisters and all our memories
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| I cannot bear all the pain it will bring |