When misdeeds have been packed away
In a dim and dusty corner
The attic of memory
Maybe, in an unplanned future
Will I stop straining to hear
Your exhaust’s familiar cadence
As your car in the valley draws near
Maybe, in an unplanned future
Your cell-phone Ode…will ring
And Joy will be un-ironic
As the tone and ode will sing:
Everything is all right
Everything is all right
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