They're packing up the polling boothsnAnd pulling down the post-itsnAs the suns sets on the primary schoolnAnd the streetlights flicker onnnAcross the town your mother left behindnAt a bittersweet sixteennYou're trying to convince menThat the government is gonennAnd you're not one for anecdotesnBut remember our delightnAs we drank to absent votesnAt the chance that you were rightnnIt was a disappointing sunsetnOnly 'cause my hopes were much too highnWe took some beers down to the landlocked jettynAnd looked across the lakennAt the detritus of election nightnIn a town without a traffic lightnCurling at the edgesnLike a pre-loved paper bagnnAnd you're not one for anecdotesnBut remember our delightnAnd we drank to absent votesnIt was just a perfect nightnnThen a solitary sailnThe softness of the lightnThe moon a fingernailnThe chance that you were right