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Lose Ourselves

de Youth Group

The smell of mown grass and petrol fumes
Takes me back to where i've been before.
I'm not so good with names or faces,
I remember smells.
Every single summer is
Just the memory of summers gone.

My soul takes flight.
Alcohol gets me through the night.

His shirt sticks to the vinyl of his cab.
A perfect day for thinking about not going outside.

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