| Slowly runs the lazy river
|
| And in it I pitched all my dreams
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| And all the things I ever wanted
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| And watched them heading slowly downstream
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| For I have learned that such things fade
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| Like photographs and family holidays
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| And every Monday is Goodbye Sunday
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| I guess you’d like me to throw away
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| That box of diaries and old letters
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| For they do nothing
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| But feed my memory
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| But really you should know me better
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| For I am too fond of the past
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| But I think I am learning at last
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| That every Monday is Goodbye Sunday
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| Yes it’s true that I cling to things
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| That I should leave behind
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| As if those were the goldens days
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| Well, I just hope that you really don’t mind
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| Slowly runs the lazy river
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| Every Monday is Goodbye Sunday etc etc |