
Here comes the first good snow Only to decorate a vacant yard Moving out of here tonight All that’s left to do is sweep the floor Old address book in my hand How’d I lose my place again The only thing not packed away Moving on a holiday Just another place left clean Won’t be dreaming here anymore Empty shelves and lonely keys Sounds so hollow when I shut the door Driving slowly, quiet streets Signals even red and green Me and what’s not thrown away Moving on a holiday I can almost hear my heart But the motor’s making such a peaceful sound Up across the great divide And you can’t tell when you start going down
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