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October's wind gets busy
Shovin' old leaves off the tree.
I'm starin' at this shadow
Who, by grace of God, ain't me.
I'm sweepin' dusty corners
For the rage I used to know,
But there's no spark remainin'-
That old fuse blew long ago.
The last man standing thinks
he's found
The highest landing, solid ground,
But cold winds blow old ghosts around
And he finds he stands alone.
How many reasons can there be,
With so few seasons left for me,
To clutch this rusted legacy?
The past is cast in stone,
But my future is my own!
Our odds all come out even
In the autumn of our lives;
Folks shouldn't be forgotten
When October's wind arrives...
When October's wind arrives.
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