| I learned the truth at seventeen_ That love was meant for beauty queens
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| And high school girls with clear skinned smiles who married young and then
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| retired
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| The valentines I never knew, the friday nights, charades of youth
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| Were spent on one more beautiful_ At seventeen I learned the truth
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| And those of us with ravaged faces, lacking in the social graces
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| Desp’ratly re[mained at home inventing lovers on the phone
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| Who called and say «come dance with me» and murmured vague obscenities
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| It isn’t all it seems at seventeen
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| A brown eyed girl in hand-me-downs, whose name I never could pronounce said
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| «Pity, please, the ones who serve, they only get what they deserve
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| The rich relationed home-town queen marries into what she needs
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| A guarantee of company and haven for the elderly»
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| Remember those who win the game, lose the love they sought to gain
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| In debentures of quality and dubious integrity_
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| Their small town eyes will gape at you in dull surprise when payment due
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| Exceeds accounts received at seventeen
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| To those of us who know the pain of valentines that never came
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| And those whose name were never called when choosing side at basketball
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| It was long ago and far away_ The world was younger than today
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| And dreams were all they gave for free to ugly duckling girls like me
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| We all play the game and when we dare to cheat ourselves at solitaire
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| Inventing lovers on the phone, repenting other lives unknown
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| That call and say «Come dance with me», and murmur vague obscenities
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| At ugly girls like me, at seventeen |