| Twilight settles on the fields
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| I hear the birds and bells in the same song
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| What comforts me will be gone within the hour
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| And I’ll be waiting by the lamp-pole
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| Is it bliss or misery if what you see is what you believe?
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| Thank the loss of innocence, for things are starting to make sense
|
| If you find them so unkind, I’ll kind my thoughts confined to my own mind
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| But don’t you trigger me… You know you’ve lost my heart to the paradise night
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| A message sent to bury dreams
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| No need to tell you what it means
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| And it will stir the hornets deep inside
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| It’s a shame, not a crime
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| Put the lid on our new time
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| Leave the room
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| Things look grim
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| Amputee… I’m your phantom-limb
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| The evening primrose blooms…
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| We used to use its roots for our blue wine
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| A scented sentiment saturates the night
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| It’s almost nine…
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| And I strike a match to set the words alight
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| Such ill news in a cruel disguise
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| Yes, it’s time for me to go
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| You can close the shutters now…
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| And go to sleep in 'our' bed
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| Tomorrow I’ll be home
|
| Is it bliss or misery if what you see is what you believe?
|
| Thank the loss of innocence, for things are starting to make sense
|
| If you find them so unkind, I’ll kind my thoughts confined to my own mind
|
| But don’t you trigger me… You know you’ve lost my heart to the paradise night |