I’ve got this old Marine Band harmonica
It’s still got Grandpa’s sweet pipe tobacco smell
And it’s getting a little rough around the edges
But, it still plays pretty well
We’re going out where cool waters
Don’t taste like mercury and lead
I’m tired of this old dirty river
And this old rock bed
I count my lucky stars
Every night and day
For the rarest birds
They always seem to fly away
And it makes my blood run as cold
As granite angels
I used to go to church on Sundays
But, now they all just hurt like Hell
I don’t think I’d ever make it up in Heaven
Maybe time will tell
I used to think that the longer the life
It was only the slower the death
Now, I wish there was some place in the middle
Where we could keep on dreaming

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