| I’ve had a rich life in large part because of him
|
| In my fifth year here he left this place
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| And the boys he raised and the girl he’d found
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| Were soldiers now
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| Things got lost in the moonbeams there
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| For a little while
|
| And I watched as the grown-ups grieved
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| But I was still a child
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| Locked in a dream, I saw his face
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| Backlit in the light of what he made
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| Impressions of struggle were all I gave
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| And his hand took my hand
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| My feet matched his stride
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| The ground swept away as we rose through the sky
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| And we floated like that
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| So we walked in the moonbeams there
|
| It shook everything
|
| And we filled up the vacant years
|
| I could hardly speak
|
| So we walked in the moonbeams there
|
| It shook everything
|
| And we filled up the vacant years
|
| I could hardly speak
|
| I explore his old house
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| And Grandpa’s closet shelves
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| To hold on to artifacts and the histories
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| I invent and retrace, and unfold
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| Oh, we walked in the moonbeams there
|
| It shook everything
|
| And we filled up the vacant years
|
| I could hardly speak
|
| When you walk in the moonbeams there
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| It shakes everything
|
| When you clutch at the bliss in a dream
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| I could hardly believe it
|
| I circle the reasons
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| Things got lost in the moonbeams there |