Good Game

We grew up in the backs of cars
We grew up in the backs of yards

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You might think it’s nuts; don’t be so quick to presume I’m down with the stream of consciously unconscious stigmas tied to degrees and separation like some bitter apathy holding me back when I’m awake enough to pounce (to show you how to dance right)
And it’s easy to fall down the stairs after a spin or two

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And we once met in the parking lot outside the convenience store
We stayed there

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