| I remember sky
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| It was blue as ink
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| Or at least I think
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| I remember sky
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| I remember snow
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| Soft as feathers, sharp as thumb tacks
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| Coming down like lint
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| And it made you squint
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| When the wind would blow
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| And ice like vinyl on the streets
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| Cold as silver, white as sheets
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| Rain like springs and changing things
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| Like leaves
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| I remember leaves
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| Green as spearmint, crisp as paper
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| I remember trees
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| Bare as coat racks
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| Spread like broken umbrellas
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| And parks and bridges, ponds and zoos
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| Ruddy faces, muddy shoes
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| Light and noise and bees and boys
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| And days
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| I remember days
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| Or at least I try
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| But as years go by
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| They’re sort of haze
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| And the bluest ink
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| Isn’t really sky
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| And at times I think I would gladly die
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| For a day of sky |