Busted doors and broken women hang out in the street
|
Faces unfamiliar turn to stare and not to greet
|
And the old cafe door¡¯s permanently closed, no more cappuccino brewing
|
There¡¯s a pair of eyes peering through the afterglow
|
Wondering what the hell I¡¯m doin¡¯
|
|
This place used to be my home
|
This town I used to call my own
|
Over the years nothin¡¯ and no one¡¯s grown
|
In this place, I used to call my home
|
|
The old tree on the hill¡¯s still standin¡¯
|
Where my baby and I used to lay down
|
She taught me about livin¡¯, lovin¡¯ and life
|
My first and only love from this town
|
And the plain old houses seem like long lost friends
|
But most have been torn down
|
I guess they tried to make way for some kinda progress
|
So hard to find in this town
|
|
This place used to be my home
|
This town I used to call my own
|
Over the years nothin¡¯ and nobody¡¯s grown
|
In this place, I used to call my home
|
|
Fields of green and lazy skies
|
Golden memories just pass me by
|
When you go back, well, it¡¯s never the same
|
I know it¡¯s true
|
But I¡¯m still hooked on you ¡¦ and this place
|
|
The old cafe door¡¯s permanently closed, no more cappuccino brewing
|
There¡¯s a pair of eyes peering through the afterglow
|
Wonderin¡¯ what the hell I¡¯m doin¡¯
|
|
This place used to be my home
|
This town I used to call my own
|
Over the years nothin¡¯ and no one¡¯s grown
|
In this place ¡¦
|
|
This place used to be my home
|
This town I used to call my own
|
Over the years nothin¡¯ and no one¡¯s grown
|
In this place, I used to call my home
|
|
-----------------
|
This Place
|
| Little River Band |
