Pictures of usIn the spring.We were so young.Are we still, are we
stillScattered around on the ground, in the heapeddry leaves?It
doesn't matter.It doesn't matter.It doesn't
matter.Pictures of usOn the beach.Technicolor scarsAnd the thing
would smudge your eyes away.'Kay, it doesn't matter.It
doesn't matter.It doesn't matter.You'll mark
yourselfAnd be depressed.
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