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Technicolor girls are always on the phone |
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talking about their homes |
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and the conversations continue endlessly. |
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Technicolor boys, transistor radios |
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blasting their treble tones |
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and the arguments are disputed after school, |
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in the parking lot as the teachers bend the rules. |
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Patiently you waited for a courting boy's embrace, |
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then everyone would know. |
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But the letter jacket wasn't yours to own |
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and it proves to be on temporary loan. |
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And as they all grow older the truth will be understood, |
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'cause we never turn out the way we thought we would. |
