| Underneath the sycamore tree
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| I can only dream how it used to be
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| Yeah maybe I was born after my time
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| Yeah a little too late for a heart like mine
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| So much to hold onto
|
| But I’ve always tried to run
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| Time doesn’t stop, it just keeps moving on
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| You only miss it when it’s gone
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| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be
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| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be
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| I think it’s time I pick up and leave
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| Head somewhere a little more than free
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| So I hope this letter will find you in time
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| Somewhere where the cactus meets the pine
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| So much to hold onto
|
| But I’ve always tried to run
|
| Time doesn’t stop, it just keeps moving on
|
| You only miss it when it’s gone
|
| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be
|
| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be
|
| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be
|
| Golden days, ain’t what they used to be |