When will you know your neighbors?
Soon, soon, soon as I’m dressed,
I’ll be out the door and right on your porch.
And I’ll learn more names than my toes.
And who will stick, nobody knows.
When will you see the capital?
Well, teach me the reasons to fight
and I’ll march like I’ve been here all my life.
If you take my hand as we talk,
then I will listen even better.
When will you spy a moose?
Soon, soon, to the kingdom we go.
I’ll get lost with you in a desert of snow.
And we’ll hush hush as we follows its tracks.
But who am I kidding? I know nothing of that.
When will you change those tires?
Well, show me a Burlington snow.
Or is winter a thing of the past?
I want to be deep, deep in the thickest of white,
and find you on a blanketed night.
Will you get a nickname?
Soon, soon, soon as we’ve danced.
It’ll roll off your tongue as we spin.
And it’ll stick, stay, fall into place,
and you’ll lift my heart when you say it.
When will you stop counting?
Well, I’m scared that the state is too small—
a quarter of the size of the borough I’m from.
But really, did I talk to them all?
Or did I wish that my city was small?
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