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There's a still in the night, a tuneless moonlight |
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Just the I-need-you-and-here's-whys of snoring Gords and Cheryls |
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There's a heron outside, in violet light |
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There's an urge to go, a shadow, a heightened air of peril |
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Your heart jumps to |
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And my heart jumps too |
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I think to myself "I don't really know my heart" |
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As you whisper "me too" |
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A silver jet roars overhead |
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Rocks the nocturne all everglade and grey sheers |
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A silver jet, so far off already |
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Fought the hot spurs off all the way to Cape Spear |
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It's quiet again, when a car like Big Ben |
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The radio dopplering, for all you Gregory Peck fans |
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Let Us Now Praise Famous Men |
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To take some pressure off the wonderous to fight and |
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Your heart jumps to |
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And my heart jumps too |
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As if the Wolves of Northhumberland themselves |
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Were rumoured to be en route |
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A silver jet, way overhead |
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You're an archipelago, a satellite, a green star |
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A silver jet, so far off already |
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With your I-need-you-and-here's-why flying to the next part |
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Your heart jumps to |
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And my heart jumps too |
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I'm thinking to myself "packing is a secret art" |
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And as you whisper "me too" |
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A silver jet roars overhead |
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A silver jet, flying to the next part |
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A silver jet, so far off already |
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A silver jet, a satellite, a green star |
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A silver jet, way overhead |
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A silver jet, evergladed grey sheers |
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A silver jet, so far off already |
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A silver jet, Clayqout sound to Cape Spear |