| Autumn air it carries me there
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| Less than an hour to go Six hundred miles an hour
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| And still it feels so slow
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| I’m trying to get back to Burlington
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| To a square in the center of town
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| To a spot on a wooden table
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| Where her feet didn’t reach the ground
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| And shen she kisses me it tasted like cinnamon
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| And her skin smells of cider and rose
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| And when she looked at me we both got quiet
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| And my heart beats so hard we were in so close
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| Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile
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| And she called me her ugly American
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| And I would call her my Canadian flower
|
| And I don’t think that we’ll ever get there again
|
| We had such power
|
| And she would call me her ugly American
|
| And I’ll remember my Canadian rose
|
| Especially when the fall comes to Burlington
|
| We were in so close
|
| I finally made it this town looks rearranged
|
| I don’t know these people anymore
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| But in the best ways not much else has changed
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| From the way it was before
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| And at least they still have this certain table
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| Where I once carved a particular name
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| I run my finger through the weathered carving
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| And I almost can feel the same
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| And my mouth it almost tastes just like cinnamon
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| As I ponder what my pilgrimage means
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| And I try to figure out where Vancouver is from here
|
| And I listen to the leaves
|
| If only for a beautiful while that still makes me smile
|
| And she called me her ugly American
|
| And I would call her my Canadian flower
|
| And I don’t think that we’ll ever get there again
|
| We had such power
|
| And she would call me her ugly American
|
| And I’ll remember my Canadian rose
|
| Especially when the fall comes to Burlington
|
| We were in so close
|
| And every single hope and dream I could ever conjure up Passionately springs in me and all things are possible
|
| Plausible and perfectly both of ours forever after and every day
|
| At least it seemed that way
|
| Once for such a beautiful while that still makes me smile
|
| And she called me her ugly American
|
| And I would call her my Canadian flower
|
| And I don’t think that we’ll ever get there again
|
| We had such power
|
| And she would call me her ugly American
|
| And I’ll remember my Canadian rose
|
| Especially when the fall comes to Burlington
|
| We were in so close |