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Her eyes are waiting in loose calls |
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Turned panels are stained brown |
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Everyone's tiring |
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Sit side by side in queue corrals with a serious slope |
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We're in it together but no one talks |
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As soon as the circus disappears |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
The saints only preach when the coast is clear |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
The lines in your palms shouldn't give you grief |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
And quickly the bloom on the rose does leave |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
No matter what he thought she was |
|
No matter what he thought she was before |
|
Professional, a working stiff, it's over now |
|
Damaged goods |
|
As soon as the circus disappears |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
The saints only preach when the coast is clear |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
The lines in your palms shouldn't give you grief |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
And quickly the bloom on the rose does leave |
|
Damaged goods, damaged goods |
|
No doubts, no doubts |
|
What's done is done |
|
No doubts, no doubts |
|
What's done is done |
|
No doubts, no doubts |
|
What's done is done |