| I’m running down the stairs, I’m running down the stairs
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| I’m running down the stairs, to catch it, trap it in a lens
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| Oh, don’t let it get away.
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| I’m running down the stairs, I’m running down the stairs
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| I’m running down the stairs, to catch it, trap it in a lens
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| Oh, don’t let it get away.
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| It’s in my photo-books
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| It’s in my memoirs
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| It fills the cupboards, I’m beginnin' to wonder where it’s from
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| Ah it’s all caught on tape.
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| It’s in my photo-books
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| It’s in my memoirs
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| It fills the cupboards, I’m beginnin' to wonder where it’s from
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| Just don’t let it get away
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| And one day, I can say that I lived it up
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| And one day, I can say that I remember it
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| And one day, I can say that I’ve got
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| Hard evidence.
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| We have a better chance on paper so we catalogue our lives
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| Our lenses and our eyes are synchronized now anyhow
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| Prefer reflections, any things that you can fit within a page
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| Just don’t let it get away,
|
| And one day, I can say that I lived it up
|
| And one day, I can say that I remember it
|
| And one day, I can say that I lived it up
|
| And one day, I can say that I remember it
|
| And one day, I can say that I’ve got
|
| And one day, I can say that I lived it up
|
| And one day, I can say that I remember it
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| And one day, I can say what I’ve got |