Nighttime in this small town, We keep our voices down and hear the streetlights as we pass on by. A troubled soul is traced to retention un-erased, alive. On the other side of me, tough talk and irony. I hear those footsteps every time I'm alone. Put your rose coloured glasses on, wake up for class my son, my soul. With every part, with everybody's broken bones, for everyone who's ever felt alone: you're not alone. I'm hearing interference on the phone. Independence day intends to stay that way and so I wait and watch the world on my own.
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