| Don’t throw out your winter clothes,
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| the way our glances froze it just might snow
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| ten thousand days or more,
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| enough to cover or quench our hopes
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| and tandem bicycles in ten-inch icicles
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| and glacier footprints in a single row,
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| leaving little hope left that you
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| won’t fall for anywhere else than here.
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| I know it seems like the better idea
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| when all our sentiments are seemingly few and far between.
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| Pasadena river in the morning, you look all the best to me.
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| Ten years on and counting you’ve got mad skills
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| and a weird ambiguity.
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| So what do you know about air lithium batteries,
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| anodes and oxide to power our flashlights
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| when our sentiments are seemingly few and far between
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| Let’s hold hands and go for a city
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| Let’s hold hands and go for a citywide search for our loss.
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| Let’s hold hands and go for a city.
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| Don’t go chasing curtain calls,
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| settle for applause from heavy rain
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| upon the bothered glass of bedroom windows as you drift away,
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| breathing uneasily, mumbling warily: Don’t go.
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| And I wake you up although I never tell you so,
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| but now you know. |