Don'T It Make Your Brown Eyes Blue

Twas nineteen seventy-six and myself a mere seventeen years of age Autumn's quickly bringing to yet it's close, her bicentennial's celebrations Going solo crashing their university's party once again; an outcast as quite shy Just odd it seems a poor kid trying to fit in; better, wishing to be loved or, belong ? Having tasted this glimpse be hope his yearbook, at fifteen and what girls had written Trodden by life the lost child sleeps truth, never have they awoke ? Reality but fragments As dreams still today while some contemplate she serves nay, their failure onus premeditates.... Signet heart, twained tours love's asylum: less this night, vodka in lemonade her blonde, a brunette.