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Pink Bullets

The Shins

I was just bony hands, as cold as a winter pole
You held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold
Oh what a contrast you were
To the brutes in the halls
My timid young fingers held a decent animal.

Over the ramparts you tossed
The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
Tied to a brick
Sweet as a song
The years had been short, but the days were long.

Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
We fell in a field; it seems now a thousand summers passed
When our kite lines first crossed
We tied them into knots
And to finally fly apart
We had to cut them off.

Since then, it's been a book; you read in reverse
So you understand less as the pages turn
Or a movie so crass
And awkwardly cast
That even I could be the star.

I don't look back much, as a rule
And all this, way before murder was cruel
But your memory is here and I'd like it to stay
Warm light on winters day.

Over the ramparts you tossed
The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
Tied to a brick
Sweet as a song
The years, they seem to be short but the days go slowly by
Two loose kites falling from the sky
Drawn to the ground and an end to flight.