When you pass through whatever it is, if I understand them,
And shed it all like a wetsuit, but without feeling clammy,
Without feeling anything I guess, then you're supposed closer
To where you started, and if that's true, it must be waking up,
A nice nurse introducing you to all the other kids who've been sick,
And you're ready with your friends for the malt shop and the jokes
And to hit a few fungoes in the bright light, and you sprint all out
Back to catch the fly ball, and you're way up, your mitt
Angling -- Mine! -- to catch the sun right in the sweet pocket.
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