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I left the flat cause it felt like home |
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Ordered wine and sat down to write you a poem |
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The words came easy, the words came strong |
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The poem would be good, the poem would be long |
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Wine came but i didn't drink a sip |
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I just checked i had money for the wine and for the tip |
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Then the poem went on and about an hour past |
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I lit a straight and had my drink at last |
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Oh you, you who know me quite well |
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You know that i don't live where i dwell |
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I don't need a table, i don't need a drink |
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All i do need is some room to think |
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Given the waterfall, given the few |
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Anything goes, anythings coo |
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I take the world with its buildings and its trees |
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And all its swans become my geese |
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The river a little stream |
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The glory of old: a dream |
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But you, you who know me well enough |
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You know what it's all made of, it's all made of good stuff |
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I kissed the cutest greek little girl |
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She gave me some soda and a little blue pearl |
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I found a roman city in southern italy |
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And destroyed its ruins, destroyed them totally |
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I left a pair of black underpants |
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In the men's room of a bar in paris, france |
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I slept on the beach above the artic cercle |
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Woke up alive and didn't call it a miracle |
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But you, you who know me like nobody else does |
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You know it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter where i was |