| There’s a black-haired girl
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| Sittin' behind the bullet-proof glass
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| And she takes my money
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| Before I go and pump some gas
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| As the cold rain falls on the parking lot
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| The strip malls and housing tracts
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| I smile at her
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| But she don’t smile back
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| Well the black-haired girl
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| Is starin' at the gossip magazine
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| And all the glossy pictures
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| Of today’s kings and queens
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| But it’s nearly three a. |
| m
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| And the whole world is dead, except for her and me
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| And the sound of the rain
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| And the smell of gasoline
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| Well that black-haired girl
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| Looks like a woman I used to know
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| Back in some other world, several lifetimes ago
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| Yeah, we’d lay in her bed
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| Drinkin' wine and makin' love
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| And lettin' time move slow
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| Well we lost touch somehow
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| But that’s just the way things go
|
| Well that black-haired girl
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| Catches me lookin' her way
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| And I feel a little uneasy
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| Maybe there’s something I should say
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| Should I ask her name
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| Or just warn her about all the tricks time can play
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| But I don’t say nothin'
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| ‘Cause she’s gonna find out anyway
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| There’s a black-haired girl
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| Sittin' beneath a flourescent light
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| Whatever fate has in store
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| Well I hope that she’ll be alright
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| I hope she finds real love
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| And all her dreams come true
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| Or at least she makes it through tonight
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| Then I drive away as she fades out of sight |