| I have searched for you
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| In the darkness of a dozen dingy dancefloors
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| In countless queues of cafés in the suburbs
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| In the bedclothes of a thousand stranger’s bedrooms
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| I have yearned for you
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| In the airless hubs of international airports
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| In the hollow hell of many hundred hotels
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| In the solitary stillness of the early hours
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| And I still do
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| Sometimes the things you need
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| Are right back where you started from
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| So fuck you, Hollywood
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| For teaching us that love was free and easy
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| For dressing all our daughters as princesses
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| For gulling us with tales of happy endings
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| And fuck you, Mötley Crüe
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| For charming us with access and with excess
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| For telling tales that leave out all the dark sides
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| For bringing out the lowest drive in everyone
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| Oh, fuck you
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| Sometimes the things you need
|
| Are right back where you started from
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| Sometimes the things you need
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| They hang around a little while
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| Then they’re good and gone
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| If I could just have a second try
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| I’d take the second call you made that night
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| Find myself an airport, find a credit card, find a flight, or something
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| And head back to the start
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| Sometimes the things I need are right back where I started from
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| Sometimes the things I need, they hang around a little while
|
| Then they’re good and gone
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| Yes, they’re good and gone |