Walking home from work
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stop at the supermarket
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the condiment aisle
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a jar of pickles catches the eye
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made eye contact with a solitary pickle
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but the jar took it home
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then made up the stairs
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and made it through the doorway
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and waded through the floor
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tried to head in the general direction of the bathroom
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the truest room in the whole damn house
|
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saying love is the answer to a question that I
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have forgotten
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and I know I've been asked
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so the answer's got to be love, yeah
|
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so feeding time with TV
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then sleeping time not sleepy so reading time with pickle
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but where the bedside lamp had been
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is now emanating soft soft green
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has it always been this way?
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is it poossible that all this magic went unnoticed?
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maybe now things will start to change,
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and life will turn a better page
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no more rage.
|
|
saying love is the answer to a question that I
|
have forgotten
|
but I know I've been asked
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
love
|
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tomorrow back to work again
|
but run to the supermarket
|
running hopeful through the aisles
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haven't been this happy in a long time
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but not a single jar will smile
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afterhours
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man pickle jars are just pickle jars
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and pickles are just pickles
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ingredients: water, salt, cucumbers, garlic, and pickling spices
|
|
but love is the answer to a question that I
|
have forgotten
|
and I know I've been asked
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
love is the answer to a question that I
|
have forgotten
|
and I know I've been asked
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
and the answer's got to be love
|
|
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Reading Time With Pickle
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Regina Spektor |