| The reproach on your daughter’s most beautiful face
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| Made me wonder just how she could know
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| Of that something that happened between you and me
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| So much more than a long time ago
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| Her mother, I can see, lives within her still
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| Cause she looked at me with her eyes
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| Though I had only just met her right then
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| I feel that she peeled back my guilty disguise
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| Did I break the thread, or did you break the thread?
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| Well at this point we could ask who cares
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| As for the promises broken and frayed
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| Well it’s 19 years late for repairs
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| The grey pewter vase held a deep red rose
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| One piece of coral shone white
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| By the brass candlestick near your red velvet coat
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| Is everything I can recall of one night
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| Will you please tell me why I remember these things
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| After all of this time, I don’t know
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| I must have left all those feelings inside
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| 'Cause that year I had no courage to show
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| Was I the name you could never pronounce?
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| Or did I even figure at all?
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| All of this happened before she was born
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| Did I shadow her young pencil marks on the wall?
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| Still, I am sure I was only but one
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| Of a number who darkened that door
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| Of your home and your hearth and your family and wife
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| Who’d been darkened so often before
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| And the red leaf looks to the hard gray stone
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| To each other, they know what they mean
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| Somewhere, their future is still yet to come
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| In ways that are yet as of now unforeseen |