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Running down a central reservation in last night's red dress, |
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And I can still smell you on my fingers and taste you on my breath; |
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Stepping through brilliant shades, |
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All the color you bring, |
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This time, this time, this time, |
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Is whatever |
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I want it to mean. |
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If this is where memories are made, |
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I'm gonna like what |
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I see, And everything that |
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I ever took for granted, |
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I'm gonna let it be. |
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I step through every shade, |
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All the color you bring, |
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This time, this time, this time, |
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Is whatever |
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I want it to mean. |
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And everything and nothing is as sacred as we'd want it to be, |
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When it's really all, |
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Make it really all, |
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Compared to what. |
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It's like living in the middle of the ocean, |
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With no future, no past, |
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And everything that's good about now, |
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Well, might just glide right past. |
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I'm stepping through brilliant shades, |
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All the color you bring, |
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This time, this time, this time, |
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Is fine just as it is. |
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And everything is sacred here, |
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And nothing is as sacred as |
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I want it to be, |
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When it's really all compared to what. |