| I was looking at photos from when we were young
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| Your hair is light blue and you’re smiling in one
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| And it’s a strange remembrance brought on by this semblance
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| Oh we were so serious, shy, inexperienced
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| Oh so unsure of ourselves
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| Making mistakes without anyone’s help
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| And I thought of the ways I remember you well
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| Some sweet recollection of redwoods and raspberry vines
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| Boys you wrote postcards to numerous times
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| The uncertainty then
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| Like some sentence of sin
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| Punctuated by moments of tenderness
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| When there were long conversations, sharing of beds
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| Walks home from swimming pools
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| Giddy, impressionable, the distance grew up like the night
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| Decisions were silence or preemptive flight
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| Yeah the queer kids I knew, we did tend to be shy
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| And your parents just couldn’t get over their shit
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| They spoke of how all their ambitions were split
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| But they still let you in and tried to pretend
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| Now you let them refer to your lovers as friends
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| And I wish they could see how it hurts
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| Or affirm your existence with interested words
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| Yeah their self-obsession's a patriarch’s curse
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| So you made a family from people you found
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| Your grew into yourself with those weirdos around
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| Late nights talking at home, or dancing 'til dawn
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| Or driving all day, 'cause you’re sick of the phone
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| Yeah, the good ones they tend to leave town
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| It helps to write letters and say «come on down»
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| Yeah I’m so much better when you’re around
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| And I think of you when I put on your old clothes
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| We don’t talk all that often, who ever does?
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| But I’ll visit you soon and sing you a tune
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| About finding a family somewhere in the ruins
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| Of the expectations we once knew
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| We’ll try to make peace with our patriarchs too |