| Wandering lonely through the snow streets of New York
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| I stumbled on a thrift store that sold postcards by the yard
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| I bought a mile and shipped them home so I could read
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| Ten thousand ten-word tragedies, the lives these strangers lead
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| To remind myself the things I need
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| I once wrote you love songs
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| You never fell in love
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| We used to fit like mittens, but never like gloves
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| You left me feeling like we’d never really been in love
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| Huddled homebound in my place in Holloway
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| I wondered if you even heard those songs I used to play
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| I wrote them as a gift for you and in return
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| You gave a pair of hand-knit mittens to keep my fingers warm
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| So I could play more ignored love songs
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| I once wrote you love songs
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| You never fell in love
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| We used to fit like mittens, but never like gloves
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| I once wrote you postcards
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| But you never wrote back
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| You promised me you would and I’m still waiting for that
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| You left me feeling like we’d never really been in love
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| Don’t want to fit like mittens
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| I want to fit like gloves
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| I want to fit like gloves
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| I want to fit like gloves
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| I once wrote you love songs
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| You never fell in love
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| We used to fit like mittens, but never like gloves
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| But never like gloves |