Frank Rae - The Leaving Kind

Come to the porch of the house I used to live
Come see me running in the yard
It’s the house of getting older but never growing up
Of sneaking out although we never got that far
And I remember how we used to get in trouble
For picking corncobs from the fields
I remember early Sunday mornings
Chasing the summer to the sea
How I long to get back home again
Leave this road behind
I’ll fall back into your arms my dear
‘Cause I got tired of the leaving kind
I got tired of the leaving kind
The walls have cracked and the doors have been repainted
It looks smaller than it used to look
But it’s the house I introduced you to my parents
Oh how they fell in love with you
No record player, no pictures on the wall
There ain’t much left for us to see
But around the corner, still that broken old piano
Like I remembered it to be
How I long to get back home again
Leave this road behind
I’ll fall back into your arms my dear
‘Cause I got tired of the leaving kind
I got tired of the leaving kind

Written by:
Frank Spierings

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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