i have walked this way before
likewise, seen that moonlit shore
this deserted garden looks familiar
and oh those distant hills, yeah
it’s a dirty shame
but it all looks the same
every night i return
to this street but never learn
who is looking down on me
from that bridge above the sea
from that ship in the night
as it floats away from sight
and the light that briefly shines
through the lonesome pines
as the car runs out of gas
yes, this way we all must pass
and the house on the hill
i should get there, but never will
i walk and walk and walk
there are no numbers on the clock
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