| Sorting through my things the other day
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| I found an old film camera that I thought I’d thrown away
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| But there it was covered in dust
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| I checked it and the film inside still had a few pictures left
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| So I just snapped it off and then
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| I found a place on the high street that could still develop them
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| I dropped them off and clean forgot,
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| It wasn’t until this morning that I picked the pictures up
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| And there before my eyes in vivid colour
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| Pictures of her stood smiling bold on the edge of a cliff by the sea
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| On the south coast somewhere,
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| Wind in her hair wrapped against the cold
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| There were many other pictures in the set,
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| Most of them were taken in the first months after we met
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| When we were lovers like happy drunks
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| Stumbling for each other with each step, each breath in our lungs
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| Pictures of nights from soho bars
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| A weekend in the country when she bought my sister’s car,
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| Her naked, serene on a hotel bed
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| Smiling at the camera, her beauty like a word unsaid
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| And there before my eyes on the glossy paper
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| Quiet whispers of something I had lost or put aside for the longest time
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| The hope that I might find some kind of peace
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| Oh oh oh where did it go go go
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| I just don’t know exactly where I kept it
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| There right there under the stairs oh please
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| Darling I swear swear swear that’s where I left it
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| Secret little things that you keep locked away
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| In a small wooden box that you barely even mention to yourself
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| It’s not exactly hope, nothing quite as simple as youth
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| Perhaps it’s just a way of looking past the truth
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| We’re all fading away
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| The truth I can see in the very last frame of that long lost roll of film
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| A picture of me, a young man holding a camera up to a mirror
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| And there before my eyes in that old reflection a declaration bold
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| We won’t stay gold, all that’s left of her and rest
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| Is a small locked box of undeveloped films and photographs |