Traditional windows, Foursquare panes
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White wooden crosses,and black weather vanes.
There's a thousand stories,when I look back
On the miles I walked, down the railroad tracks.
Dirty foursquare panes, made from cheap clear glass
Don't ever get washed, till the very last.
No one ever sees, from the outside in
My checkerboard tablecloth,worn through thin.
Whitewashed fences fell down, on a bed of weeds
There's a girl next door, says she's got needs.
Red and white memories, have a blue, blue stain
Washed my mind yesterday, turned it again.
Take any story, that I could have told
Wake it up tomorrow, when I'm not so old.
Push all my snapshot words, aside like dirt
There's fallout in her yard, she's the one hurt.
Traditional windows, broken panes
White wooden crosses, black hearted veins.
There's a thousand stories, when I look back
You're the one I loved, and that's a fact.