the shadows sink into the hills
the fences go on forever
in my hands I'm turning over
a bracelet that she wore
but she won't wear it anymore
the truck stops all start to look the same
I swear I saw that chain smoking lady again
keep on moving I think I'm good for
a hundred miles more
could things ever be how they were before?
a scent left on a sweater
stuffed inside a dresser
a polaroid that slips
underneath your eyes
pieces of different puzzles
mixed up in the same box
and thrown into the blue

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