| This is the place where she lay her head
|
| When she went to bed at night
|
| And this is the place our children were conceived
|
| Candles lit the room at night
|
| And this is the place where she cut her wrists
|
| That odd and fateful night
|
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
|
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
|
| This is the place where we used to live
|
| I paid for it with love and blood
|
| And these are the boxes that she kept on the shelf
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| Filled with her poetry and stuff
|
| And this is the room where she took the razor
|
| And cut her wrists that strange and fateful night
|
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
|
| And I said, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, what a feeling
|
| I never would have started if I’d known
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| That it’d end this way
|
| But funny thing I’m not at all sad
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| That it stopped this way
|
| Stopped this way
|
| This is the place where she lay her head
|
| When she went to bed at night
|
| And this is the place our children were conceived
|
| Candles lit the room brightly at night
|
| And this is the place where she cut her wrists
|
| That odd and fateful night
|
| And I said oh oh oh oh oh oh what a feeling
|
| And I said oh oh oh oh oh oh what a feeling |