| When dad moved out to a frozen land
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| The TV was jumping and it didn’t quite feel right
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| The cards they came with pictures of frozen lights
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| and giant frozen sculptures
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| So big right beside him
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| carved out of snow
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| We traveled all night
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| The clouds fooled us into seeing snow
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| As far as we could see
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| but it was summer and the sun came up
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| and never went down for two whole weeks
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| My mom she cried about money and time
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| and how she felt older
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| I didn’t understand much
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| She left and I stayed
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| My dad played in the bar
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| I wondered if I looked like him
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| He was small even with boots on
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| He looked like an Eskimo
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| and we were in Alaska
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| In the airport I had seen or imagined a mural of an arctic scene
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| with seals and people that seemed nicer than me
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| where they smoked and talked about the dissapearing ground
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| My dad was nice and seemed sorry for not being around
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| He left work early and took me to a skating rink
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| Where all of the kids in the world could have been
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| I was scared and tall with skates on
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| and my favorite jeans
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| There was a boy who wanted to skate with me
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| He held my hand
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| and we went around
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| More times I counted
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| By a mural of an Arctic scene
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| I was looking at my feet because
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| It was perfect and the air was clean
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| My dad was there
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| It was summer’s last eve
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| and that’s how I choose to remember it |