It would be nice,
To get a smooth new jacket,
Stuff your hands in the pockets,
Feeling the fabric stretch and mold,
And walk away from a lot of it,
And you'd be a coward,
And a visionary,
Unfit and remembered as you went,
What exactly would you think about?
That's what really sticks me proper,
And does it still hurt at night,
Even sometimes?
But I don't know who I'm asking,
I don't even know if this is what I'm doing or not.
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