2 Songwriters 200 Songs

Down that steep suburb hill, where houses stand in rows,
her ponytail is flying on her bike she goes,
braking hard at the market and swerves into a yard
and her cheeks are flushed, she′s breathing hard.
Little boy comes running and holds his sister′s side,
dirty streaks down his cheeks from all the tears he′s cried;
she puts her arms around him and strokes his matted hair,
soothingly she whispers her there-there.
July, a warm day in July,
sun and a blue sky,
there′s more light than meets the eye.
July, one fine day in July,
under a blue sky,
I′ll dry your tears, now don′t you cry.
Since we′re all grown-ups we′re not supposed to break,
sisters don′t rush to our sides at false steps we take;
alone without comfort we play our adult plays,
holding back our tears recalling childhood days.



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