| He was not so tall and rather fat
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| He had a labrador and a limping cat
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| Born in a country with a broken heart
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| He had enough money and a credit card
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| Told bedtime stories to his teddybear
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| Gave him lots of hugs and a dress to wear
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| He had a small appartment, what a lovely sight
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| He watched MTV all night
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| Where the hell was friendship
|
| He must have turned it off
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| And most of all he wondered: «What is love
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| What the hell is love?»
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| He enjoyed the silence more and more
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| As he heard the door slam right next door
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| He had a fancy Parker and a diary
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| In which he wrote some poetry
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| And as he went to bed at night
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| The cat’s eyes gave him ample light
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| To make him lie awake and see
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| The content of his misery
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| Where the hell was friendship
|
| He must have turned it off
|
| And most of all he wondered: «What is love
|
| What the hell is love?»
|
| Where the hell was friendship
|
| He must have turned it off
|
| And most of all he wondered: «What is love
|
| What the hell is love?» |