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In the future 

when mornings are no longer about fingertips and shoulders 

 

In a few months, 

when our nightstand holds alarm clocks and phones

instead of wine glasses and ashtrays

 

After some years

when my memory fades the way 

clouds and spiderwebs do 

 

I will look back with a smile 

at what was,  not at what is lost 

 

 

 

 



When I say out loud, I want to get out of this

I wonder is there anything I'm going to

miss

Third Eye Blind