The April girls are all there in Heaven,
Sitting in a cafe drinking tea.
Or maybe they’re all raising hell,
In some dingy bar.
Maybe they’re up there,
Chasing lives they wish they had lived,
Making up for the time they lost.
Maybe they’re watching over me and C,
Making bets,
Passing along the binoculars,
Always saying:
“I told you so”.
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