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With pawnshop eyes and a second hand frown |
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She sat silent at the table |
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Her boots were brown, well, should she leave town |
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To play the role of lover ex-patriot? |
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A nod to the waiter, always her flirty behavior |
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You know she always gets one on the house |
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And she pulls out a letter from a bag that's under her sweater |
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And before she reads, she straightens her blouse |
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There's a passion in being alone |
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A grace in a loveless time |
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There is no new cross, there is no new sign |
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Only the sun and the changing tide |
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Out of respect, well, I really must confess |
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I never lost your number, I never lost your address |
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And if we remain friends at best, sometime later no, no, not yet |
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We'll smile and remember it like this |
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She put back the letter, one tear falls like a feather |
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And disappears on the bar room floor |
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The gratuity included, you know |
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The letter concluded, "P.S. and all my love" |
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There's a passion in being alone |
|
A grace in a loveless time |
|
There is no new cross, there's no new sign |
|
Only the sun and the changing tide |
|
Out of respect, well, I really must confess |
|
I never lost your number, I never lost your address |
|
We remain friends at best, sometime later no, no, not yet |
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We'll smile and remember it like this |
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Well, I'm gon' remember you, baby |
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I said, P.S., all my love |
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Said, P.S., all my love |
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P.S., all my love |
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I gotta say, P.S., all my love |
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Yeah, all my love |