| I left the flat cause it felt like home
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| Ordered wine and sat down to write you a poem
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| The words came easy, the words came strong
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| The poem would be good, the poem would be long
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| Wine came but i didn’t drink a sip
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| I just checked i had money for the wine and for the tip
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| Then the poem went on and about an hour past
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| I lit a straight and had my drink at last
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| Oh you, you who know me quite well
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| You know that i don’t live where i dwell
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| I don’t need a table, i don’t need a drink
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| All i do need is some room to think
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| Given the waterfall, given the few
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| Anything goes, anythings coo
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| I take the world with its buildings and its trees
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| And all its swans become my geese
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| The river a little stream
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| The glory of old: a dream
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| But you, you who know me well enough
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| You know what it’s all made of, it’s all made of good stuff
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| I kissed the cutest greek little girl
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| She gave me some soda and a little blue pearl
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| I found a roman city in southern italy
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| And destroyed its ruins, destroyed them totally
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| I left a pair of black underpants
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| In the men’s room of a bar in paris, france
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| I slept on the beach above the artic cercle
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| Woke up alive and didn’t call it a miracle
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| But you, you who know me like nobody else does
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| You know it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter where i was |