| A scrapbook on my lap. |
| A soft head on my shoulder.
|
| Behind loose plastic pages are some fading photographs
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| Peculiar fashion styles
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| In the corner there’s a baby
|
| Behind the infant smile is a heart I recognize.
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| What was I doing then? |
| Learning to take some steps.
|
| Then walking through adolescence some thousand miles away.
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| And up in heaven God called a meeting. |
| And in the space that was next to mine
|
| he chose to write your name.
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| I never understood our weather here. |
| Or how together life and death must dance.
|
| But I’ll forever be most baffled by the subtle glances from who I landed.
|
| What are the chances…
|
| There’s the place where the story about us started and took the stage.
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| It’s been so many days.
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| And now the bricks are starting to crack.
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| Feels a little weird looking back because some things have changed,
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| some things have died, but somehow you’ve stayed the same all this time…
|
| I never understood our weather here. |
| Or how together life and death must dance.
|
| But I’ll forever be most baffled by the subtle glances from who I landed.
|
| What are the chances…
|
| Some will say that it goes away. |
| I will run and chase it down through that
|
| rolling thunder and rain.
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| I will risk my sails and all this boat to be in that storm.
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| Either way I am going to stay.
|
| Though the waves will try to pull me away…
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| Either way I am going to stay. |