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An ex-inmates tries to start over, having lost everything.
Red house in a corner by the old fruit tree. In the red house where I met you, you and sweet little Emily. Yes, I can't forget you; want to re-arrange your life. Keep a copy of your photograph as a record of you and me and Emily. In the cold black heart of winter, in the company of wolves, you asked me if I wanted to kiss you tenderly if I could. But on this path that I've made, an affair of bittersweet taste, a fateful turn gone so wrong. But anyway, it'll come to you someday, any day. And Emily, how is she? Tell her that I'm sorry I can't be her days of summer, her perfect stranger and love-torn father - cos I won't be going back to the red house where she'll be. Paulie called this morning. There's a trick downtown. Paul and I go back to '85 when we both went down. I said, "I'm a working man now, doing the best I can. Sorry, but I can't do time no more, friend." But isn't it strange that doing time is what I am? What I am. No I won't be going back to the red house. You might be thinking I would do somehow. But I'm a workingman; doing the best I can. Don't want to touch you like a thief. So I'm never going back to the red house where she'll be. Tell me that he loves her. Tell me that he cares. Tell me of the man I am when I'm not there. Tell her I set you free by making a tale of you and me. Tell her on some sunny day I might be stealing a moment from far away.