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Mademoiselles... |
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You end me, pal... |
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Second bottle... |
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Ah, she looks for me... |
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Bonnet flapping... |
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Yapping... |
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Ruff!... |
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Chicken... |
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Pastry... |
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Yes, she looks for me-good. |
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Let her look for me to tell me why she left me- |
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As I always knew she would. |
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I had thought she understood. |
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They have never understood, |
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And no reason that they should. |
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But if anybody could... |
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Finishing the hat, |
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How you have to finish the hat. |
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How you watch the rest of the world |
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From a window |
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While you finish the hat. |
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Mapping out a sky. |
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What you feel like, planning a sky. |
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What you feel when voices that come |
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Through the window |
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Go |
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Until they distance and die, |
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Until there's nothing but sky |
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And how you're always turning back too late |
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From the grass or the stick |
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Or the dog or the light, |
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How the kind of woman willing to wait's |
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Not the kind that you want to find waiting |
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To return you to the night, |
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Dizzy from the height, |
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Coming from the hat, |
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Studying the hat, |
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Entering the world of the hat, |
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Reaching through the world of the hat |
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Like a window, |
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Back to this one from that. |
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Studying a face, |
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Stepping back to look at a face |
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Leaves a little space in the way like a window, |
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But to see- |
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It's the only way to see. |
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And when the woman that you wanted goes, |
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You can say to yourself, \"Well, I give what I give.\" |
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But the women who won't wait for you knows |
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That, however you live, |
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There's a part of you always standing by, |
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Mapping out the sky, |
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Finishing a hat... |
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Starting on a hat. |
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Finishing a hat... |
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Look, I made a hat... |
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Where there never was a hat |