Our house was number 4, west end of Strathmore,
by the corner of Darby Road
Two stone pillars stood their guard, I could see them from my yard
They're still on duty to this day
and the old library lady knew my name, in Havertown

Max Factor's pharmacy, the hobby shop and the bakery
The Brookline Theater's matinees
Martel's grocery store, none of them are there no more
I guess there came a time to close 'em down
But you can feel their ghosts all around, walkin' in Havertown

The history remains, like stained glass window panes
Even though the years keep rollin' on
The Firehouse and Irish bar, on Brookline Boulevard
Any other town would have torn 'em down, but not Havertown

Sister Marie Germaine made me walk home in the rain
from Annunciation School.
And the Mother Superior cried on the day John Kennedy died
as we prayed for hours in the vestibule
That's the day I learned that nuns were human too.

In the public schools, my friends were Jews, Irish and Italians too
and far too few were brown
But those years became like jail, I could not wait to bail,
to find my feet, and get 'em on the ground
I remember takin' one last look around, on a late bus out of Havertown

Petrella's record store, Terry's Deli right next door
All those crazy kids now grown and gone
The Red Arrow trolley trains, no trace of them remains
and any time these folks get pushed around
They stand again, instead of stayin' down, that's Havertown

This town's a lot like me, straddling the centuries.
Mostly then, and partly now
My old house still stands, and I'd sure like to shake the hand
of whoever owns it now

And I would thank them for opening up their door to the boy I left behind
Life was simpler then, and yes, I remember when
an evening paper only cost a dime
But I guess there ain't no goin' back in time

So maybe someday if I'm heaven bound
it might look a lot like Havertown

Our house was number 4, the west end of Strathmore
by the corner of Darby Road