| Confetti floats away, like dead leaves in the wagon’s wake
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| There were parties here in my honor, 'til you sent me away
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| And now silver moons belong to you
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| Passing the baton from the old mare to the fawn
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| It was out of line but it was fun, didn’t you love the part right before the
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| dawn?
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| And now silver moons belong to you
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| I’m off to the ballet and to practice all these ancient ways
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| Tell the news kids where I hid the wind, tell their fathers that I’m on my way
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| Hey, Hey, Maybe the days are over, over now
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| Maybe these days are over, over now
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| And I loved it better than anyone else you know
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| And I believe in growing old with grace
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| I believe she only loved my face
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| I believe I acted like a child
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| Making faces at acquired tastes
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| And now silver moons belong to you
|
| And silver moons belong to you
|
| I’m off to the ballet and practice all these ancient ways
|
| Tell the new kids where I hid the wine. |
| Tell their fathers that I’m on my way
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| Maybe these are over over now
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| I think maybe these days are over, over now
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| I believe in growing old with grace, I believe she only loved my face
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| And I think maybe these days are over, over now
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| Gone are the days bonfires make me think of you
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| Looks like the prophecy came true
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| You are a fallen tree. |
| He is a fallen tree
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| How old are you? |
| No, how old are you?
|
| Under the all the folds of the dresses that you wear
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| There’s an ocean and a tide and a riot in the square
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| Over are the days that the congas made your hair
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| Sway around to the cadence of your hey-o hey-o cheer
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| Under the all the folds of the dresses that you wear
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| There’s an ocean and a tide and a riot in the square
|
| Over are the days that the congas made your hair
|
| Sway around to the cadence of your hey-o hey-o cheer
|
| Under the all the folds of the dresses that you wear
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| Sway around to the cadence of your voice when you sang there |