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So cold today |
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Wind is blowing |
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You turn your face away |
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Can hardly see where you're going |
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Walking downtown |
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Eighth Street, Washington Square |
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Stepping carefully |
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In the footprints someone left there |
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While the city all around you |
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Becomes only paper thin |
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And the wind on your face |
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Is freezing someone else's skin |
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And the sun is making movies |
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Slo-mo black and white |
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You wish you could breathe the cold air |
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And feel it move inside |
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I know what it is to be nowhere |
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I know what it's like |
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I know what it is to be nowhere |
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Long ago in your room |
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Pretended you were far away |
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Then you looked into your mother's eyes |
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Saw no one was reflected there |
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Now your secrets are your companions |
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You know them all by heart |
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They're written on your body |
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You read them in the dark |
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Carved underneath your sweater |
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So you'll always remember |
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At least they're something to hold onto |
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Hold onto |
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I know what it is to be nowhere |
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I know what it's like |
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I know what it is to be nowhere |
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Nowhere |
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Walking downtown |
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To a place you've never been before |
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Go inside and say your name |
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And close the door |
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Go inside, say your name |
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And close the door |
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Go inside |
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Go inside |
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Go inside |