| They’re packing up the polling booths
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| And pulling down the posters
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| As the suns sets on the primary school
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| And the streetlights flicker on
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| Across the town your mother left behind
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| At a bittersweet sixteen
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| You’re trying to convince me
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| That the government is gone
|
| And you’re not one for anecdotes
|
| But remember our delight
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| As we drank to absent votes
|
| At the chance that you were right
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| It was a disappointing sunset
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| Only 'cause my hopes were much too high
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| We took some beers down to the landlocked jetty
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| And looked across the lake
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| At the detritus of election night
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| In a town without a traffic light
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| Curling at the edges
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| Like a pre-loved paperback
|
| And you’re not one for anecdotes
|
| But remember our delight
|
| And we drank to absent votes
|
| It was just a perfect night
|
| Then a solitary sail
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| The softness of the light
|
| The moon a fingernail
|
| The chance that you were right |