Frames

Behind the bar, she poured her drinks
To strangers in the worn out seats of...
Friends, who've come and gone, singing Springsteen songs

Decades before, boots stomping on pinewood floors
Play the hits, keep your tips, and fly them all the way to New York
Get away from the boys next door
Cuz while there's gotta be so much more

Felt small in a small town, the good old days to chase down
Now their voices she cannot recall
Faces, in frames, on walls...

Along with...

Lawn chairs in the living room, and dirty secrets too
Daffodils in the yard, and all those chores to do

Never lingered too long, never really knew
All that they passed along, only passing through...

Now your building's twice as tall, as the old neighborhood's water tower
So high, you've seen it all, but the greener grass don't grow no flowers in New York
Got away from the boys next door
But ever after feels just like before

Still small in your big town, the good old days to chase down
Now your voice that they cannot recall
Your face, in a frame, on a wall...