Little dedos reach out to me
Softening all chaos
Transporting me into a world I once was in.
My father had a different car
For every period of my childhood
The blue Bonneville,
That you could only open from one side,
And with a hanger at that,
For the days I attended catholic school
How ironic,
That like those cars,
My memories sit in a junk yard,
Exhausted and dirty sight to those
Who don't know the life behind each one.
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