| The old man stood there thinking
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| While staring in that old toy shop
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| With its carousel still turning round
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| In front of a music box clock
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| For what good’s a clock without a chime
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| A useless thing that just keeps time
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| Recording moments that come and leave
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| But this clock’s chimes struck midnight
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| Upon a lost christmas eve
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| And when the final chime had spoken
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| And the twelfth bell had finally rung
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| The indecision in the father was broken
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| He now knew what had to be done
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| So he got into a yellow cab
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| And prayed that it might lead
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| Through all this snow and streetlight glow
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| To a past he might retrieve
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| When the taxi dropped him off
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| At the boarding house hotel
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| It was a rundown building
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| With a musty, rundown smell
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| And he asked for his son
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| From the hotel’s night desk clerk
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| Who said his son was not there
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| He was not back from work
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| When the father said that was impossible
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| The clerk replied, «i'm not here to debate
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| But he works at the hospital, just down the block
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| If you want you can sit here and wait
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| But he never returns till real late»
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| Then the father tried asking another question
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| But the clerk went back to watching his tv
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| Which was also playing, «how the grinch stole christmas»
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| And the father mused, «this movie has no sympathy,
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| Well, at least not when it comes down to me»
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| Once outside he saw the hospital’s entrance
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| And went to information by the front door
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| Who confirmed that his son had a job there
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| And worked up on the seventh floor
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| So he took the elevator up to that floor
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| Which was marked «maternity»
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| And the man knew in his heart that this was a mistake
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| For his son working here could not be
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| But the nurse on duty reconfirmed that he did
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| And since her rounds were about to begin
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| If he would like to follow her
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| She would gladly take the father to him
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| So he followed her to a large dark room
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| That to him seemed unusually empty
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| Except for several incubators glowing on the right
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| Each with a trembling baby
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| These infants were all extremely frail
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| And obviously in incredible pain
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| And this sight cut deep into that father’s soul
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| And he asked the nurse, please, to explain
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| «these children were born to mothers
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| Who were addicted to crack cocaine
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| And these children are born in complete withdrawal
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| For that drug is still deep in their veins
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| We can give them no other drugs to ease their withdrawals
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| Since they are born premature and quite frail
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| And any form of pain killer
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| Could easily cause their small hearts to fail"
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| «and what does my son do here?»
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| The father asked, «he is not a patient, i assume»
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| The nurse did not say a single word
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| But nodded to the far left corner of the room
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| And there the father saw his son
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| Who looked like himself when he was a younger man
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| Rocking back and forth in a rocking chair
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| A trembling infant held in his hands
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| And in his arms the child did not cry
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| But slept to silent lullabies
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| And his son rocked that newborn back and forth
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| Until finally, a dream was caught
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| But still at his rocking, his son faithfully kept
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| Till that poor child’s trembling had also, finally, left
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| Then the nurse whispered softly
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| Into the father’s ear
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| Something that a blind man could see
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| But the father needed to hear
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| Whispered to him in this room
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| Filled with mankind’s misbegotten
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| Something that the father had known once
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| But somehow had forgotten
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| She said, «it is this way with each of us
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| We all need to be held, at least twice
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| Once upon the day that we are born
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| And once more when we leave this life
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| Your son has been coming to this place
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| Since as long as i’ve been working here
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| He’s never missed a single day
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| In nearly twenty years
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| He always arrives promptly on time
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| But a time card he does not keep
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| For he never leaves this maternity room
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| Until every last child is asleep"
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| Then the nurse noticed the father
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| Trying to choke back the things he now felt
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| So mentioning she had to continue her rounds
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| She quietly excused herself
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| So he was now alone in the darkness
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| Between the past and future caught
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| Not knowing what to do
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| As his mind flooded with so many thoughts
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| Some beauty comes too early
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| While its moment never waits |
| And some beauty is always there
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| But never seen, till it’s too late
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| Look! |
| there is a moment
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| It has just slipped away
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| And so we lose our lives
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| In such ordinary ways
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| Where do we get our dreams from?
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| Where do we get our faith?
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| Is it something that we are born with
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| Or is it something for which we must wait?
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| The mist of things we once believed
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| The childhood truths for which we grieve
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| And in our lives could we have missed
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| Those that in the dark, the angels kiss
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| What child is this
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| Who laid to rest
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| That i now find here sleeping?
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| Do angels keep the dreams we seek
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| While our hearts lie bleeding?
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| Could this be christ the king
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| Whose every breath the angels bring?
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| Could this be the face of god, this child, the son i once carried?
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| What child is this
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| Who is so blessed he changes all tomorrows?
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| Replacing tears with reborn years
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| In hearts once dark and hollow
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| Could this be christ the king
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| Whose every breath the angels bring?
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| Could this be the face of god, this child, the son i once carried?
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| In the dead of the night
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| As his life slips away
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| As he reads by the light
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| Of a star faraway
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| Holding on
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| Holding off
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| Holding out
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| Holding in
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| Could you be this old
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| And have your life just begin?
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| It begins
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| Tell me how many times can this story be told
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| After all of these years it should all sound so old
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| But it somehow rings true in the back of my mind
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| As i search for a dream that words can no longer define
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| And the time
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| And the time and the years
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| And the tears and the cost
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| And the hopes and the dreams
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| Of each child that is lost
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| And the whisper of wings
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| In the cold winter’s air
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| As the snow it comes down
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| And visions appear everywhere
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| In the air
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| In the dead of the night
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| As his life slips away
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| As he reads by the light
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| Of a star faraway
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| Holding on
|
| Holding off
|
| Holding out
|
| Holding in
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| Could you be this old
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| And have your life just begin
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| It begins
|
| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| It begins
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| It begins
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| Reading by the light of a lost christmas day
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| It begins |