| My skinny days, my heavy nights —
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| A blue blue room, up three flights —
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| She waves and turns from the window to her boy
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| The band is through, the wedding gown
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| Is one more flag that’s coming down
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| The sun is rising like a bomb over Illinois
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| My heavy nights, my skinny days —
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| The way she tends her secret place
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| While uncles gather in the parlor thick with smoke
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| Cousin Lou is in the hay —
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| They say she knows how to play
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| The game of love, and her guitar with two strings broke
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| Out on the beach beneath a towel
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| They fall asleep until the howl
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| Of wind and wave wake them up and they catch the last commuter train
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| Her skinny days and her family
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| Have stripped her down for all to see
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| But her big mouth could drink them all like summer drinks the rain
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| She put her ring in her underwear drawer
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| While the world tumbled from war to war
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| There was a box full of gifts to be returned
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| She grew her garden, mostly wild
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| And walked for miles and raised her child
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| She kept her cool, but after midnight she burned
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| I told the tale. |
| I walked the line
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| In Michigan, into the pines
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| I made a camp, I built a fire, I loved myself
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| And skinny days have gained some weight
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| And wasting time keeps me up late
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| I’m sending you this book of pictures, for your shelf |