| January 1st, 2018
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| I’m writing you now, Annika Norlin
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| From the remnants of a New Year’s Eve
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| The fog that slithers through the streets
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| I’m trying to remember how
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| You made friends when you were young
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| What were those friendships based on
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| And what made them so strong?
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| Francisco was my first friend
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| He lived 'round the bend in my neighborhood
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| He came up one day and asked, «Are you a turd?»
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| I said I was not, he said, «Then you’re good»
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| He had post traumatic memories
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| I didn’t have any friends
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| We based our friendship on our non-turdness
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| At the time, it just made sense
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| Remember the first time that we met?
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| That fall in New York that I want to forget
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| You asked if someone had a show for your band
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| I surprised myself when I reached out a hand
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| I was feeling so alone back then
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| Vulnerable and heartbroken
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| Despite that people used to call my name
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| As I stepped off the Q train
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| As I stepped off the Q train
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| I joined a program where you meet refugees
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| To feel a bit better 'bout myself honestly
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| I met Nazir, once a week
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| And we ended up good friends eventually
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| He said, «Thanks for taking the time to meet
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| It’s really nice of you»
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| And I wondered who should be thankful to who
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| And who really needed who
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| Who really needed who
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| It’s a miserable, sad and lonely life
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| You’re a slave to your fears and then you die
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| Once in a while the skin becomes thin
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| You stand there by the door saying, «Can I come in?»
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| I just want someone to talk to
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| Well, maybe not just anyone
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| I’ve always liked what goes on in your brain
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| So would you like to correspond?
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| Would you like to correspond? |