| I’m thinking about the first line
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| That I wrote you way back when
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| You always said that I was
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| The last in a long line of friends
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| But peeking through a keyhole
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| There’s only so much to take in
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| Things get so uneven
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| Like they do in the end
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| Deny me
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| Any indication
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| Define me
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| Any way you can
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| That’s
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| When I called
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| You over
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| See a little darkness
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| Mixed in with the light
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| Know your kisses arrow to nights of sweet delights
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| Let’s make the bad of a bad situation
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| Try to define love
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| Any way we can
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| That’s
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| When I called
|
| You over
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| Your bright like a shadow
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| Dark like a sunny day
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| You shuffled all the pages
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| Until the words decayed
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| I’m a traveler in the hard hard rain
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| And you my dear are quite insane
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| I’m in the middle of the river
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| Scattered ropes and jewels for ever
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| I’m back out on the town now
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| Back out on your street
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| I feel a little strange about it
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| But you know what I mean
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| So take this as a last line
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| Take this as the end
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| Scatter through the chatter
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| And full malcontent
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| Lets take our eyes out
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| And complete the conversation
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| Devise a way out
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| Of our grandest plans
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| That’s
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| When I called
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| You over |