| A postcard of Byron by the bed
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| It’s a reminder of every word that he said
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| To die in the arms of a twenty year old
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| A figure of porcelain with moves so bold
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| You’d love to have a heart of gold
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| You would have to have come from a better mould
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| To die in the arms of a twenty year old, twenty year old
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| Ending the shift of a sleepless night
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| You’re tossing and turning and holding on tight
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| To die in the arms of a twenty year old, twenty year old
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| You wanna know about William’s heart
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| Is it broken in two? |
| Who’s feeling bad?
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| Is there enough of a spark to sparkle again?
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| Is he lost? |
| Does he need a friend?
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| Lying to those who know you the best
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| Keeping a secret close to your chest
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| To die in the arms of a twenty year old, twenty year old
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| The agony of the late night pub
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| Talking too much, old age is a curse
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| To die in the arms of a twenty year old, twenty year old
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| You wanna know about William’s heart
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| Is it broken in two? |
| Who’s feeling bad?
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| Is there enough of a spark to sparkle again?
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| Is he lost? |
| Does he need a friend?
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| William, where have you gone? |
| Will you return to me?
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| William, where have you gone? |
| Oh please, return to me
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| If it’s a single man or a single malt
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| That I take in my arms when I’m feeling low
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| You’ll say honesty has made me cruel
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| I say you’re soft and you’re made of wool, you are made of wool |