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| | G | D | Em | C |
| There are ti | mes that walk from y | ou like some pa | ssing afte | rnoon |
| | G | D | Em | D |
| | Summer warmed the o | pen window | of her hone | ymoon |
| | G | D | Em | C |
| And she ch | ose a yard to b | urn, but the gr | ound remembers h | er |
| | G | D | Em | D |
| | Wooden spoons, her chi | ldren stir her bouga | invillea bl | ooms |
| | G | D | Em | C |
| There are th | ings that drift a | way like our en | dless, numbered da | ys |
| | G | D | Em | D |
| | Autumn blew the qu | ilt right off the pe | rfect bed she m | ade |
| | G | D | Em | C |
| And she's ch | osen to bel | ieve in the h | ymns her mother si | ngs |
| | G | D | Em | D |
| | Sunday pulls its chi | ldren from their p | iles of fallen le | aves |
| | G | D | Em | C |
| There are sai | ling ships that p | ass all our bo | dies in the gr | ass |
| | G | D | Em | D |
| | Springtime calls her chi | ldren 'till she l | ets them go at l | ast |
| | G | D | Em | C |
| And she's ch | osen where to | be, though she's l | ost her wedding r | ing |