| Did they never tell you 'bout it, baby?
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| Did they never say it’s tough?
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| Are you never going to give up on that
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| Big romantic stuff?
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| That French song playing on the radio at noon
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| The singer’s name was Jean Michel and he’s singing 'bout la lune
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| And she shivers as she comes awake
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| And remembers how to think
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| And she shakes the hair out of her eyes
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| But the daylight makes her blink
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| And the song it whispers in her mind like a half forgotten sigh
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| Of times of love the longest days and youth and endless skies
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| And ooh la la la
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| Ooh la la la
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| Did they never tell you 'bout it, baby?
|
| Did they never say it’s tough?
|
| Are you never going to give up on that
|
| Big romantic stuff?
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| To ease the pain of it, to fill the empty void
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| She stores up ancient souvenirs like ravens with their hoards
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| It’s not the getting old she minds, it’s the meaningless of being
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| She thinks about all this while Jean sings about la vie
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| And accordions and violins take her back in time
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| When the only explanation was a kiss and love and life
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| Did they never tell you 'bout it, baby?
|
| Did they never say it’s tough?
|
| Are you never going to give up on that
|
| Big romantic stuff? |