I spent my days in the attic
Going through grandma’s clothes
Neatly stored in wooden boxes
Until we finally let them go
She left Long Island for Europe
In the spring of 48
To ride her bike from Rome to Paris
And he fell in love the first
I know if
Or the art
But longing
Pulling back to the
she up
Oh,
Oh, oh,
jeans, 501
loafers leather shoes
A red scarf in
Sunday
I if story
the or the art
But there’s longing
back to place
Where grew
oh
oh, oh
oh
Oh, oh, oh
don’t know story
the or the
there’s longing
Pulling back
she grew