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I leaned the truth at seventeen |
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That love was meant for beauty queens |
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And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles |
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Who married young and then retired |
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The valentines |
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I never knew |
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The Friday night charades of youth |
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Were spent on one more beautiful |
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At seventeen |
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I learned the truth |
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And those of us with ravaged faces |
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Lacking in the social graces |
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Desperately remained at home |
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Inventing lovers on the phone |
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Who called to say, "Come dance with me" |
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And murmured vague obscenities |
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It isn't all it seems at seventeen |
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A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs |
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Whose name |
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I never could pronounce |
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Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve'Cause they only get what they deserve" |
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And the rich relationed hometown queen |
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Marries into what she needs |
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With a guarantee of company |
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And haven for the elderly |
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So remember those who win the game |
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Lose the love they sought to gain |
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In debentures of quality and dubious integrity |
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Their small town eyes will gape at you |
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In dull surprise when payment due |
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Exceeds accounts received at seventeen |
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To those of us who knew the pain |
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Of valentines that never came |
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And those whose names were never called |
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When choosing sides for basketball |
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It was long ago and far away |
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The world was younger than today |
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When dreams were all they gave for free |
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To ugly duckling girls like me |
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We all play the game and when we dare |
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To cheat ourselves at solitaire |
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Inventing lovers on the phone |
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Repenting other lives unknown |
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They call and say, "Come on, dance with me" |
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And murmur vague obscenities |
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At ugly girls like me at seventeen |