Lyrics |
Sorting through my things See what i can find Picking through the past See what's left behind
Multi-colored sweaters That moths have eaten holes A paire of breaded mocassins with worn out soles
Boots were made for walking Winds were blowing change Boys fall in the jungle As i came of age
Black and white tv With a broken 12-inch screen Dylan's highway 61 And jackie's love machine
I reread your letters and again I cry great tears Light comes to the surface Even after all these years
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