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In the jukebox of her memory |
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The list of names flips by and stops |
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She closes her eyes |
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And smiles as the record drops |
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Then she drinks herself up and out |
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Of her kitchen chair |
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And she dances out of time |
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As slow as she can sway |
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For as long as she can say |
|
This dance is mine |
|
This dance is mine |
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Her hair bears silent witness |
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To the passing of time |
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Tattoos like mile markers |
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Map the distance she has gone |
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Winning some, losing some |
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She says my sister still calls every sunday night |
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After the rates go down |
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And i can never manage to say anything right |
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My whole life blew up |
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And now its all coming down |
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And she says leave me alone |
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Tonight i just wanna stay home |
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She fills the pot with water |
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She drops in the bone |
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She says, i've got a darkness that i have to feed |
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I've got a sadness |
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That grows up around me like a weed |
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And i'm not hurting anyone |
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I'm just spiraling in |
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As she closes her eyes |
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And hears the song begin again |
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She appreciates the phone calls |
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The consoling cards and such |
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She appreciates all the people |
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Who come by and try to pull her back in touch |
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They try to hold the lid down tightly |
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And they try to shake well |
|
But the oil and water |
|
Just want to separate themselves |
|
She drinks herself up and out of her kitchen chair |
|
And she dances out of time |
|
As slow as she can sway |
|
For as long as she can say |
|
This dance is mine |
|
This dance is mine |
|
This dance is mine |