| The house was like a tomb.
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| I was hiding in my room.
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| As my brother made his way on down the hall.
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| I didn’t want to say goodbye.
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| And I was trying to deny there was a war,
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| And that he got the call.
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| I watched him from my window
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| Walking down the drive.
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| Then I ran down the stairway
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| Through the front door and I cried
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| You come back you hear?
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| And I let him see my tears
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| I said I’ll give you my rookie of DiMaggio.
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| I’ll do anything you want,
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| Clean your room, or wash your car.
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| I’ll do anything so long as you don’t go.
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| But he said, this is what brothers are for.
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| Well I have my heroes,
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| But the one I love the most
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| Taught me how to hunt and swing a bat.
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| And I wrote him every night,
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| I said I miss our pillow fights,
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| But lately I just wonder where you’re at.
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| Sometimes freedom makes it hard to live.
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| When it takes things from you that you don’t want to give.
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| I said you come back you hear?
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| I miss you being near.
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| Laugh and fish down in the maple grove
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| I’ll do anything you want.
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| There must be someone I can call,
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| And just maybe they would let you come back home.
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| But he wrote, this is what brothers are for.
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| I may never have to face the anger of those guns,
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| Or lie cold and wounded in my blood,
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| Or know the sacrifice and what it must of cost
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| For him to love me that much.
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| Well, it had been two years,
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| And I held back my tears
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| When I saw him in that wheel chair on the shore.
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| And as I ran and held him tight,
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| That’s when he looked me in the eye
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| And said I’m sorry that you have to push me home.
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| And I said hey, this is what brothers are for. |