| When I look into my book, oh, oh so late at night
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| I see the names of girls I knew and used to hold so tight
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| But I remember all the little things that we used to do and share
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| But the thrill of you being close to me, mm, is no longer there
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| When I look upon my shelf, I shed a tear, oh, but why
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| I see the pictures of you I took and they seem to make me cry
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| But I remember all the little things that we used to do and share
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| And the thrill of being close to me is no longer there
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| You know, baby, when I look into my book
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| You know, I seem to remember all the goods times we used to share
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| You know, all them walks down lovers lane, even the fights with your dad
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| Yeah, after all this time, it seems so real and sad
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| But I remember all the little things that we used to do and share
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| And the thrill of you being close to me is not there… |