Here I am
I listen to your northern songs
Your melancholic, mellow middle-age
I remember your catchy tunes
Your good year
For the roses
I send her picture postcards
Of past times from a while ago
When I bounced around
In brothel creepers
And skin tight, drainpipe
Sky blue jeans
Seems like only yesterday
How to have found
So so many memories
So so many places to linger
While you stroke
My hair, faced back
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