| Saturday night, the lights are all lit up
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| There’s a bottle of wine beside an overfilled paper cup
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| And the cigarette she left lit is all burned up
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| But the heat from where she lay is not
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| Like smoke from factories, we leave our heat behind
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| Like wound down batteries, hearts stop sometime
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| And between these sheets her perfume lingers on
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| And in a couple of weeks all the evidence will be gone
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| Like a dust free patch where a magazine lay
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| A girl leaves a gap when she goes, but someone else fills it up someday
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| Like smoke from factories, we leave our heat behind
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| Like wound down batteries, hearts stop sometime
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| She took away the daydream leaving nothing but daily life
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| She took away almost everything but if you look you’ll find
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| Evidence she left behind:
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| A blue bar of soap left on the sink
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| And lipstick 'round the last glass she used to drink
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| And those burnt-up books of matches that she kept
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| And heat from the mattress where she slept
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| Like smoke from factories, we leave our heat behind
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| Like wound down batteries, hearts stop sometime |