| Small town, bright lights, Saturday night
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| Pinballs and pool halls flashing their lights
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| Making change behind the counter in a penny arcade
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| Sat the fat girl daughter of Virginia and Ray
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| Lydia hid her thoughts like a cat
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| Behind her small eyes sunk deep in her fat
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| She read romance magazines up in her room
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| And felt just like Sunday on Saturday afternoon
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| But dreaming just comes natural
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| Like the first breath from a baby
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| Like sunshine feeding daisies
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| Like the love hidden deep in your heart
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| Bunk beds, shaved heads, Saturday night
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| A warehouse of strangers with sixty watt lights
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| Staring through the ceiling, just wanting to be
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| Lay one of too many, a young PFC:
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| There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said
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| Strangers had forced him to live in his head
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| He envisioned the details of romantic scenes
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| After midnight in the stillness of the barracks latrine
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| But dreaming just comes natural
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| Like the first breath from a baby
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| Like sunshine feeding daisies
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| Like the love hidden deep in your heart
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| Hot love, cold love, no love at all
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| A portrait of guilt is hung on the wall
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| Nothing is wrong, nothing is right
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| Donald and Lydia made love that night
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| They made love in the mountains, they made love in the streams
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| They made love in the valleys, they made love in their dreams
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| But when they were finished, there was nothing to say
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| 'Cause mostly they made love from ten miles away
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| But dreaming just comes natural
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| Like the first breath from a baby
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| Like sunshine feeding daisies
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| Like the love hidden deep in your heart |