My first impression of you was "airhead"
You turned me down, but we kept meeting with friends
When I had a chance, I asked you to come out and play
You came out and told me what you liked
I held your hand, and you said it was OK
You asked me what I saw in you, and I pointed out your choices
You wept and said, "that was a push"
It would never work, but I fought for it anyway
And then at some point, I ran out of gas
And that was it
I know that our memories work differently
So our perceptions of the past differ grossly
There ain't much to be done about it
So long, and I hope we get along one day
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