| Hey, Theresa, neighbours still a long way from the start
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| Selling secrets just to pay our dues and play our parts
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| Cold September brings the oldest longing in my heart
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| Words are kicking off a dust of wind of where we are
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| But I love you more, I love you more
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| Like kick drums on your bedroom door
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| And I throw on some piece of mind
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| But you still ain’t the salesman kind
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| Now we’re floundering like foals in brambles in the night
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| Now we’re poking out our eyes to kill the end in sight
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| I would rather tell you yes than tell you that I might
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| I would rather tell you lies than give in to the fight
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| But I love you more, I love you more
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| Like kick drums on your bedroom door
|
| And I throw on some piece of mind
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| But you still ain’t the salesman kind
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| Theresa says the start can end in a bad way
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| When she sleeps, the coyote screams in her head
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| Theresa says the time has played with our own way
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| I can’t find the hands to remind me that there’s nothing in the way
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| But I want you more, I want you more
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| As if I’d never said before
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| And I’ll throw on some piece of mind
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| But you still ain’t the salesman kind |