| Common man, six foot tall he stands
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| Waiting on his date to some company party in France
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| And she’s late, the boss man said, «a quarter till eight»
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| And as nine rolled around at his watch he’s looking down
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| The ticking fate
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| And, oh, the funny thing about love is it makes you wait
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| He wore his good shoes
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| Now he’s walking them home with the homesick blues
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| Feeling like he fucked up
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| It’s all right he’ll get back up because he chooses to
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| His over-coat, speckled with snow he walks alone
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| Just then he turns his head and sees a girl of which they said the poets wrote
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| Don’t hesitate, my dear, don’t wait and put it all on the line
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| I’m a leap of faith my dear, and I’m slipping down your spine
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| I will wait my dear, till I’m dead or the end of my time
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| Oh, you let me know you’re mine
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| He went insane; |
| Oh, the thoughts of her tortured his brain
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| So he re-traced his steps so he would not forget where she’d been
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| But she was gone, just the scent of her lingered on
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| So he lived all of his days with his head stuck in a maze half stoned
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| Don’t hesitate my dear, don’t wait put it all on the line
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| I’m a leap of faith my dear, and I’m slipping down your spine
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| I will wait my dear till I’m dead or the end of my time
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| Oh, you let me know you’re mine
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| Oh, you let me know you’re mine |