Walking Shoes

We are the tourists in your sunny day
Both sweet and bitter,
And lifes just a work in progress,
It makes us sigh a little cause it’s just so much to touch,
But never enough to hold.
When we live our lives, through postcards and telephones,
Just like the wind blowing through,
Or that train going choochoo,
We were born to walk in shoes,
So I guess I’ll be seeing you.

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