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My red T-shirt is not that red anymore It wasn't chlorine but the sunlight I'm not eighteen and shutting the door Quietly I try to crawl and hide This blossom isn't right anymore At least doesn't seem to be from my window The garden that I made and adored I'm admiring over my right elbow My hand supports my thoughts And the chin points forward But is anatomic, not blaming And I wrote on the clouded glass My imagination in words A beam of light shows the feeling Aus Songtexte Mania