That's where my grandparents live.
The old house you think nothing of when you pass.
The old house that creaks before you even step through the door.
The old yard full of mile high bushes and weeds.
The old yard that had been filled with playing children who didn't listen.
And the old porch swing
Where every night you'd see my grandparents sitting.
Side by side, hand in hand.
As they watch the world crumble before them.
As they watch those people pass by.
And every night you'd see my grandpa kiss my grandmother's wrinkled old hand.
And every night you'd hear my grandma remind my grandfather of stories from when they were young.
And every night you'd see them sitting there.
Side by side, hand in hand.
As the days pass by,
And they grow older and older,
And weaker and weaker.
That little old house, on that little old road.
That's where my grandparents live.
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