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O how Ruefully I pine For mi pueblito perdido, What I wouldn’t give, To be young again, And happy as I was back then. Maria, full of peace, Do you remember
Traveling is a part of who I am A search of me In a place I've never seen Weather buildings or the jungle I find myself in bundles I explore sandy beaches and towns where I am faceless
A small Alaskan town Enveloped in a calm, magical mist Where everyone grew up on a steady diet of Chocolate brown X-tra Tuffs, playing outside until dark descended, and rain that never stopped
Even the rainbows seem gray in this puddle we call Elmira Slushy in winter, sticky in summer I wish I could feel safe at night Mark Twain is buried here and his ghost continues to haunt us
38663 is the town where I learned to be It’s the town where I learned to climb a tree and scrape my knees I made life-long friends and stayed in playpens and slide down slides yelling “Weeeeee!”
Woke up in a dream under asphalt treessoaked in the sap of the sweltering citywearing these old rat rags and sneering at the concreteGreyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve
It is the dead of winter, and from the kitchen window, The oldest child watches her siblings play and tackle each other in the snow.
Babbling of the brook,
A small town is just that. A small town.
The bus windows lets me stare at all those people that give no care. Why should I stand when I pay the same fare? We live here too, it's not your lair.