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I can see myself it's a golden sunrise
|
Youg boy open up your eyes
|
It's supposed to be your day.
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Now off you go horizon bound
|
And you won't stop until you've found
|
Your own kind of way.
|
And the wind will whip your tousled hair,
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The sun, the rain, the sweet despair,
|
Great tales of love and strife.
|
And somewhere on your path to glory
|
You will write your story of a life.
|
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And all the towns that you walk through
|
And all the people that you talk to
|
Sing you their songs.
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And there are times you change your stride,
|
There are times you can't decide
|
Still you go on.
|
And then the young girls dance their gypsy tunes
|
And share the secrets of the moon
|
So soon you find a wife.
|
And though she sees your dreams go poorly
|
Still she joins your story of a life.
|
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So you settle down and the children come
|
And you find a place that you come from.
|
Your wandering is done.
|
And all your dreams of open spaces
|
You find in your children's faces
|
One by one.
|
And all the trips you know you missed
|
And all the lips you never kissed
|
Cut through you like a knife.
|
And now you see stretched out before thee
|
Just another story of a life.
|
|
So what do you do now?
|
When she looks at you now?
|
You know those same old jokes all the jesters tell
|
You tell them to her now.
|
And all the same old songs all the mistrels sang
|
You sing 'em to her now.
|
But it don't matter anyhow
|
'Cause she knows by now.
|
|
So every chance you take don't mean a thing.
|
What variations can you bring
|
To this shopworn melody.
|
And every year goes by like a tollin' bell.
|
It's battered merchandise you sell.
|
Not well, she can see.
|
And though she's heard it all a thousand times
|
Couched in your attempted ryhmes
|
She'll march to your drum and fife.
|
But the question echoes up before me
|
Where's the magic story of a life?
|
|
Now sometimes words can serve me well
|
Sometimes words can go to hell
|
For all that they do.
|
And for every dream that took me high
|
There's been a dream that's passed me by.
|
I know it's so true
|
And I can see it clear out to the end
|
And I'll whisper to her now again
|
Because she shared my life.
|
For more than all the ghosts of glory
|
She makes up the story,
|
She's the only story
|
Of my life.
|
|
|
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-----------------
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Story of a Life
|
Harry Chapin |