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Whose streets these are I think I know

his house is in the city though

He won't see me stopping here

to watch his streets fill up with snow

My beat up truck must think it's weird

to stop without anything near

Between the streets and worn out brakes

The darkest evening of the year

The engine stalls and begins to shake

To ask if there is some mistake

The only other sound's the sweep

of freezing people with no escape

The streets are lovely, dark and deep

but I have promises to keep

and miles to go before I sleep