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The months go by |
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I don't think of you |
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The signal is frail |
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An imprint of what you do |
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So I turn up the sound |
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And you are nowhere |
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I have learnt this to my cost |
|
But I maintain |
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In the slow lane |
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I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
The scent goes by |
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Still I smell of you |
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You say I cry |
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At the merest thought of you |
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So you let me down |
|
To laugh at nothing |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
But I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
So I turn down the sound |
|
And you are nowhere |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
But I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
I maintain |
|
In the slow lane |
|
So turn down the sound |
|
You are nowhere |
|
You let me down |
|
To laugh at nothing |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |
|
I have learnt this to my cost |
|
I have learnt this for myself |