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Written by: jeffry cohan

     SOMEWHERE OVER THE CLOVER
I remember cowboys, Indians and an ice cream truck
this was long before I decided not to give a f*ck
we had hiding places with time to bide
and no one ever found where I used to hide

I used to hide not under my bed
I wouldn't hide behind a door of lead
I would choose a more advantageous place instead
I, all by myself, would hide inside my head

i'd watch the cowboys and Indians run wild
and the Indians got exponentially angry when they were riled
one day the Indians would win and the cowboys another
it didn't matter if brother fought brother

we'd play at the foundations of houses yet to be built
we played sans sorrow, fearfulness and guilt
we played midst the trees, the grass and the clover
but unlike childhood I realized that as adults there isn't any do over
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