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Sun comes through the shade, |
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lands on the ceiling, |
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it ends down the wall, |
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where you're sleeping. |
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And I'm trying to memorize |
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your every morning movements, |
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the roll and rise of you. |
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But it's too late to run, |
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when you're caught in the snare, |
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and I'm tangled in the barbed wire, |
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all around your bed. |
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Now, honey, I'll never learn, |
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it takes me so long, |
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when I finally fall, you know, |
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they're always gone. |
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Early morning haze, |
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back in the car, |
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what to bring and what to leave behind, love. |
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Well you've got a car full of clothes, |
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you've got your Steinbeck novels, |
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you've got your wine glasses, |
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you've got your summer sandals. |
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You've got your sunglasses, |
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you're ready to go |
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to the gold state, |
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the gold coast. |
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Sun comes through the shade, |
|
lands on the ceiling, |
|
it came ninety-three million miles |
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just to be here. |
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Maybe it's not so far |
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maybe it's not so far |
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maybe it's not so far |
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to California. |