Junebug, I remember everything.
The blue carpeted floors, the tall wooden doors, I held you in my arms.
Junebug, I'd burn down a picture of a house,
say it was ours, w hen we didn't need it anymore.
And that was when I loved you best.
We were kids then. We shoul dn't think about the rest.
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You'd put the moon in a basket on your bike front by the coast.
The way your face lit up in pale grief you were a ghost.
You liked to play with darkness, all the universe could give.
I was the home you once tried to escape, the dark in which you lived.
And soon they'd find you laying there on several different homes.
They' d find you laying on their porches, did you need to use the phone ?
And lure you into their rooms, that was the last I heard of June.
That was love I could n ot allow.
You were beautiful then, you're just a coke jaw now.
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I remember every thing.
That was love I could not keep.
You were beautiful then. I'm still in too deep.
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