| Go on and taste your dreams
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| Leave me with the bill
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| and miss me half as much as you say you will
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| You can make me believe you’d need me still
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| Love may be a curable disease
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| Those dreams, they are like pills
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| They may dangle you like a worm out on a line,
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| or make you the household name just like they have advertised
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| Does it concern you now, does it even cross your mind?
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| That «love» could be a misquotation
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| Your dreams, they are not mine
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| And in the light of day, what have you got?
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| Are you for sale or are you bought?
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| Is there a best «if used by» date written on the top?
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| I don’t believe that it’s wrong to have heard love and dared the cost
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| but love can be a mistranslation and lines can be crossed
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| If you can taste your dreams and leave me with the bill
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| and miss me half as much as you say you will
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| You can make me believe that you need me still
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| Your dreams have been a false I.D. |
| that made you look like someone else
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| and the writing on the wall looked just like water on the windowsill
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| It said love can be a curable disease |