| Mademoiselles
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| You end me, pal…
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| Second bottle
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| Ah, she looks for me Bonnet flapping
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| Yapping…
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| Ruff!
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| Chicken
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| Pastry…
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| Yes, she looks for me-good.
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| Let her look for me to tell me why she left me-
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| As I always knew she would.
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| I had thought she understood.
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| They have never understood,
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| And no reason that they should.
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| But if anybody could…
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| Finishing the hat,
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| How you have to finish the hat.
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| How you watch the rest of the world
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| From a window
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| While you finish the hat.
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| Mapping out a sky.
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| What you feel like, planning a sky.
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| What you feel when voices that come
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| Through the window
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| Go Until they distance and die,
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| Until there’s nothing but sky
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| And how you’re always turning back too late
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| From the grass or the stick
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| Or the dog or the light,
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| How the kind of woman willing to wait’s
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| Not the kind that you want to find waiting
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| To return you to the night,
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| Dizzy from the height,
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| Coming from the hat,
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| Studying the hat,
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| Entering the world of the hat,
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| Reaching through the world of the hat
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| Like a window,
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| Back to this one from that.
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| Studying a face,
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| Stepping back to look at a face
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| Leaves a little space in the way like a window,
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| But to see
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| It’s the only way to see.
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| And when the woman that you wanted goes,
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| You can say to yourself, «Well, I give what I give.»
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| But the women who won’t wait for you knows
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| That, however you live,
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| There’s a part of you always standing by,
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| Mapping out the sky,
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| Finishing a hat
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| Starting on a hat
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| Finishing a hat
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| Look, I made a hat
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| Where there never was a hat |