| Grey London morning, wet London streets
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| Rain on the window, wind in the trees
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| It’s my time to write, it’s your time to call
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| There’s something about distance that gets to us all
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| Dark clouds above me, little people below
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| All walk with a purpose with someplace to go
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| It’s my place to paint my own selfish scene
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| On this cold lonely canvas, it’s just the weather and me
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| And latitude
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| Fold back the morning and bring on the night
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| There’s an alien moon
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| That hangs between darkness and light
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| Latitude between me and you
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| You’re a straight line of distance
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| A cold strech of black across blue
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| Latitude
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| Cracks in the sidewalks, dogs on the run
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| An old poster reading «Give us your sons»
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| Window frames capture moments in time
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| But latitude captures the heart and the mind |