| A strange boy is weaving
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| A course of grace and havoc
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| On a yellow skateboard
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| Thru midday sidewalk traffic
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| Just when I think he’s foolish and childish
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| And I want him to be manly
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| I catch my fool and my child
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| Needing love and understanding
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| What a strange, strange boy
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| He still lives with his family
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| Even the war and the navy
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| couldn’t bring him to maturity
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| He keeps referring back to school days
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| And clinging to his child
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| Fidgeting and bullied
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| His crazy wisdom holding onto something wild
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| He asked me to be patient
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| Well I failed
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| «Grow up!"I cried
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| And as, the smoke was clearing he said
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| «Give me one good reason why!»
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| What a strange, strange boy
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| He sees the cars as sets of waves
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| Sequences of mass and space
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| He sees the damage in my face
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| We got high on travel
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| And we got drunk on alcohol
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| And on love the strongest poison and medicine of all
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| See how that feeling comes and goes
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| Like the pull of moon on tides
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| Now I am surf rising
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| Now parched ribs of sand at his side
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| What a strange, strange boy
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| I gave him clothes and jewelry
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| I gave him my warm body
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| I gave him power over me A thousand glass eyes were staring
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| In a cellar full of antique dolls
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| I found an old piano
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| And sweet chords rose up in waxed New England halls
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| While the boarders were snoring
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| Under crisp white sheets of curfew
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| We were newly lovers then
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| We were fire in the stiff-blue-haired-house-rules |