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I am summers son.
Winter is my mom.
We don't talk anymore its gotten to warm.
In the desert, my dad never leaves me.
But when I hit the west hills, He sets me free.

The windows are broken that look to your house.
Fall comes in breezes, she is drying her blouse.
My sister spring she cut her hair.
She says it won't stop growing, Oh my God.
Thats not fair.

What kind of man, has he made of me,
What kind of man will I turn out to be.
A boy he came up to me and said.

It's not to late to turn out okay.
Its not like you're dead, you're not even twenty three.
It's not to late to set yourself straight.
My disappointment stems from a far different place.

Lyrics submitted by dudedudedudedude

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