| How the years have gone
|
| It’s come to this
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| A rose on his lapel, in the open coffin I’d give him a kiss
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| I have to go up north to play at his funeral
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| And his wife is there
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| In some chapel she’s picked out
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| And there’s not even an organ
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| I have to play on some broken upright piano
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| Listen to these low notes
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| What a joke
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| And you have to park and you couldn’t even hear the ceremony in the cemetery
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| Because the noise from the traffic and construction is so terrible
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| And I stood there in the slush
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| And I walked along, very slowly
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| To the tree by the turn
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| And I went in front of my mother and father and sister and husband’s graves
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| And looked over to the sun setting to the right
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| Tick, tock. |
| Tick, tock. |
| Tick, tock. |
| Tick, tock
|
| And I thought of myself
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| And I thought of them
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| In the cold hard ground
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| You still can’t believe
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| You still can’t believe
|
| I didn’t believe it then
|
| And I don’t believe it now
|
| I didn’t believe it then
|
| And I don’t believe it now
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| I didn’t believe it then and I don’t believe it now
|
| But there it is
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| Listen to this tune I’m playing for you now, kids
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| Does it seem sad
|
| Does it remind you of when
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| Shady grave
|
| Come the summer it will be
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| Shady grave
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| Come the summer it will be
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| Well I can hear the cars just
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| A hundred feet behind
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| And I smell the rock salt in the air
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| And I know in my bones it isn’t fair
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| And the sun sets in the sleet to the side |