tell me, dear,
|
|
is there anything you'd like to hear?
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one last song before we disappear?
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some broken hearted ballad
|
built for two.
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by the way, it seems my notebooks have been misplaced
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those scribbled poetries of yesterday
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they've no more effect on me,
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those dead feelings
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the songs we don¡¯t sing are the hardest to hear.
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words left unsaid, words we wish we'd forget.
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the guilt slips from our lips,
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confessions hidden behind eyelids.
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would you look me in the eye and tell me
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does the moon weep at dawn?
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his brilliance exposed
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by a fierce and burning sun.
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the songs we don't sing we don't want to hear.
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words left unsaid well, they're only words
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we lick the guilt form our lips,
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we make confessions from fertile hips
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and never look them in the eye.
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|
-----------------
|
The Moon Red Handed
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The Good Life |