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Technicolor girls are always on the phone,
Talking about their homes,
And the conversations continue endlessly.
Technicolor boys, transistor radios,
Blasting their treble tones,
And the arguments are disputed after school,
In the parking lot as the teachers bend the rules.
Patiently you waited for a courting boy's embrace,
Then everyone would know.
But the letter jacket wasn't yours to own,
And it proves to be on a temporary loan.
And as they all grow older, the truth will be Understood,
Cause we never turn out the way we thought we would.
Talking about their homes,
And the conversations continue endlessly.
Technicolor boys, transistor radios,
Blasting their treble tones,
And the arguments are disputed after school,
In the parking lot as the teachers bend the rules.
Patiently you waited for a courting boy's embrace,
Then everyone would know.
But the letter jacket wasn't yours to own,
And it proves to be on a temporary loan.
And as they all grow older, the truth will be Understood,
Cause we never turn out the way we thought we would.
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To me, this kind of creates an imagery of remembering a time where you thought things were better (the "good ole days"), or maybe even more generally, making out your life as better than it really is. One "colors" their life, or their memories, just as Technicolor colors a Black and White film. This implies a level of "fakeness" even...almost like the overly cheery TV shows of the 50's/60's and suburbia in general.