| Here she comes like a Queen all through the wintertime
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| Skirts that billow long after she’s gone
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| Yes I could smell her smell on the pillow late at night
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| She’s a rose that blooms at night
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| And all the streets were wet and slicked with rain
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| Outside my green front door
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| Number 48 seemed dull by comparison
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| I went on down to the pub to stock up for the long night by myself
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| That’s one way out of this cold and lonely world
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| Yes I’ll be a rose that blooms tonight
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| The city’s quiet
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| The rioters have all gone home now
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| The fire brigades' sirens have been locked up for the night
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| There’s a blackout down on Brown Street
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| Where all the blues come home
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| And yes there’s a rose that blooms at night
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| Now Jim he packed up all his bags and said
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| «It's time to get out of here»
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| But his wife and children they were crying out in the kitchen
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| Out in the back
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| Once a year he remembers that scene
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| But it seems so long ago now
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| He tries to remember but he can’t
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| You don’t look back
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| Memories — they’re like a rose that blooms at night
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| There’s a clock that never strikes
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| In the Town Hall’s towers of steel
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| There’s a road that’s never used
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| It’s never kissed with the hiss of wheel
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| In your mouth is a rusted brace
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| That you flash with your junkyard smile
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| Shine on like a rose at night |