93 Lewis Street

There’s a hook that hangs in the kitchen
I can see the water drippin’
Through the cheese cloth from berries hidden within
And a cuckoo calls from the wall
Along side five others in the hall
Old grandfather clock resides over them all

Poppy is down with his tools
Scornin’ the women upstairs talking like fools
He says “Down here in the basement, boys, that’s where we keep it cool.”
Nana’s in the garden outside
Picking plums and rhubarb for her pies
If you think you’ll get away with just one slice, don’t even try

On 93 Lewis Street I hear the stories
of those who came before me
When I leave, I carry them with me
to remember my family

Oh when the wind blows and the sun shines in the sky
Oh when the river knows your face as well as mine, I know why

On 93 Lewis Street I hear the stories
of those who came before me
When I leave, I carry them with me ...

I’m lying in a pile of leaves
Can’t be more than twelve or thirteen
I look out and up into that tree