| Do you remember the taste of my lips that night
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| I stole a bit of my mother’s perfume?
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| 'Cause I remember when my father put his fist through the wall
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| That separated the dining room
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| And I remember the fear in your eyes
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| The very first time we snuck into the city pool
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| Late December, with my heart in my chest
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| And the clouds of my breath
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| Didn’t know where we were running to
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| But don’t look back
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| Oh, we’ll be looking for sunlight, or the headlights
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| 'Til our wide eyes burn blind
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| We’ll be lacing the same shoes that we’ve worn through
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| To the bottom of the line
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| And we know that we’re headstrong
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| And our heart’s gone
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| And the timing’s never right
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| But for now let’s get away
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| On a Roman holiday
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| Could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive
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| to Queens?
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| 'Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the
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| backseat
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| I imagine the tears in your eyes
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| The very first night I’ll sleep without you
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| And when it happens I’ll be miles away
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| And a few months late
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| Didn’t know where I was running to
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| But I won’t look back |